


There's something about the Winchesters

by Ookomix



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Action/Adventure, Dark Ages, Destiel implied, Gen, M/M, NaNoWriMo 2017, Witchcraft, timetravel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-01-28 01:37:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 29
Words: 56,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12595156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ookomix/pseuds/Ookomix
Summary: trying to fight a coven of witches, the brothers finds themselves transported to the dark ages. Here is the beginning of a painful journey to go home...





	1. Too many witches

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Owkay! That time of the year again!  
> As I said last year, This work is rather raw, so please don't mind the flaws and typo, even if I try my best to avoid them. It will be corrected by my beta in time, but not right now.  
> Here's the deal: I'm making a chapter a day, 1667 words min every 24h, maybe more if I'm lucky or if I have nothing to do.  
> English is *not* my native language, so I'm sorry if I'm butchering it sometimes.
> 
> anyway, I stop rambling, ENJOY!

The Impala stops near a bus stop, hidden from view and harm. Their target: an apartment in the other side of the road. After a quick nod exchanged, the brothers get out of the car and go for the trunk. They need to be really prepared for this one. Even if they have already kicked Lucifer’s ass in the past, it’s not everyday they find themselves in front of an entire coven of witches. A real, not just three girls playing with fire. Real, bad witches. Rowena style. And numerous. If their sources are good, the building itself is a coven. Dean sighs loudly as he gathers his witch-killing bullets.

“What?” Sam asks.

“I’m just… You know how I feel about witches. Like… Can’t we have a nest of vampires? Or a pack of werewolves? I’m tired of witches, man.”

“Yeah well, we can’t leave just because you find witches disgusting. Man up.”

Saying these words, Sam pats his brother on the shoulder and grabs his guns. It’s with apparent disgust that Dean follows him.

They cross the road with quick strides, and immediately search around the door for some potential protection spell. Well, if there is, they’re not able to tell, and Dean decides it’s good enough to lock pick the door under the bewildered stare of his brother.

“Dude, seriously?”

“What? No spell on the door, that’s good enough for me!”

“That’s a _building_ _coven_!” Sam, whisper-shouts at him.

Before Dean can reply the door suddenly opens, and they are both dragged inside without effort as the door closes again behind them.

 

Dean opens his eyes with difficulty and groans, his arms sore from the position they are attached into. he’s trapped on a chair, that he can’t tell without looking. What he doesn’t know, however, is where is brother is.

“Sammy?” he tries a little too loudly, and he winces as his own shout makes bells ring in his head. He must have hit the wall really hard when he flew through the corridor.

“ _Sammy_ is not here,” a feminine voice replies with a playful tone.

A woman appears from behind him, her tight, long dress revealing her slim frame and elegant gait. Though she’s just how Dean likes a girl, she’s a witch. And probably a hundred years old one. With a sneer, Dean eyes her from head to toe.

“You’re are going to die. That I promise.” And by that, he means he hopes Castiel is not too much occupied with the search for Lucifer. And not too far either. Because he doesn’t have his guns, he doesn’t have his brother, and he knows a powerful witch by the look of it.

“Oh, I do hope you worthy of your reputation, Dean. You Winchesters always think you have the upper hand. Well, We will be known as the coven that stopped the famous brothers. What a twist, am I right?”

“Other will come after us. Hunters. Men of Letters. You won’t be at peace. You’ll never be.”

“Such a big mouth when you don’t have your big toys. Cut the crap. How did you find us?”

Dean raises an eyebrow. So, she’s powerful, yes, but once again he finds himself in front of a foe that underestimate him. Why do witches always do that?

“We tracked you down from Pennsylvania.”

 

_Flash news: A famous singer, Lola Degeneve, has been found dead in her apartment in Harrisburg this morning. Lola seemed to have choked on nails, a gruesome suicide that will shake the world_ _of pop_ _as she was a true shining star in the-_

_Dean cuts the TV and sighs. Sam stays silent, standing near his bed, a frown on his face._

“ _Does that sound like our kind of weird?”_

“ _Witches,” Dean snaps. “Yerk. Why does it have to be witches?”_

“ _You’re going to say that every time we run into witches?”_

“ _Yep.”_

 

The witch scoffs, a scowl on her pretty face.

“I see. Helena has been reckless. But that’s not going to happen again.” She seems thoughtful. “How did you track us? We left Pennsylvania rather quickly, we were sure not to be followed.”

“We’re the freakin’ Winchesters. What d’ya think?”

 

“ _Yep,” Sam says as he lifts his head from under the sink. “Witchcraft alright. Powerful one.” He drops the hexbag on the counter, in front of Dean._

“ _What did they have against that girl? Jealousy? Or something else?”_

“ _You know how to know everything about a girl?”_

 _Dean raises an eyebrow before catching on. The closet. He turns on his heels and heads towards the bedroom, then methodically rummages through the numerous closets that composes the girl’s dressing room. And he finds it. The little box that contains_ everything _a witch needs to be, well, a witch. The book of shadows, the hexbags, the little tablecloth with the symbols… he could go on and on. Dean goes back to the living room with his findings, a smile on his face._

“ _the internal bickering turns bloody, I see!”_

“ _That’s not funny, Dean, stop smiling. Well, at least we know the vic knew her murderers. That will be easier to find them.”_

 

Dean doesn’t explain himself. He just smiles proudly at the witch, and she snarls at him before leaving the room. Loosing his smile, Dean curses between his teeth.

“Cas? Little help?”

He waits a few seconds before loosing patience, and he immediately pulls against the ropes, trying to find a weakness in the knots. He doesn’t have any news about his brother, and he fears the worst. What if he’s dead? What if they did something to him?! His strength renewed, Dean wiggles on his chair… and falls on the side with a loud thump. The good news: the chair didn’t resist, and he’s free. The bad news: he made a hell lot of noise. Two grunts, visibly bewitched, slams the door open and run right to him… before falling dead on the floor only meters away from him.

“Dean?! You alright?”

“I’m on the floor, what do you think?!”

But Dean’s relieved to see his little brother in one piece.

“How did you escape?”

“I played dead. There’s five witches home, but they’re busy on a spell and I’m not sure what’s for. I suggest we stop them.”

“Good idea.”

Grabbing their guns from the cupboard, the witches always tend to underestimate them and forget the existence of witch-killing bullets, the brothers cut their way through the grunts and kick open the door of the witches’ living room. It’s dark, only lit by a few candles… and the powerful spell flowing from the table and running in the room like a wild fire. Dean shouts and shoots at the first witch, right through her chest and she falls dead in front of the four other. They immediately break the circle to fight, but to the Brother’s dismay it doesn’t stop the violent flow of magic.

“It’s too late,” a witch shouts with a victorious smile, “you can’t stop us-” she die with a bullet through her brain.

Sam aims at another, daring her to talk. She raises her hands, her eyes wide with fear.

“How do you stop it?! The spell?!”

“We can’t!” She seems so eager to be honest it’s almost painful.

So they’re useless. Dangerous and useless. Dean sighs and shoots at the remaining witches before focusing on the spell itself.

“Alright, you’re the nerdy one,” he says to Sam, “find something!”

“What? Are you serious?!” But even if he complains, Sam immediately gets to work, and rummages through the notes and spells to stop the now loud and bright flow of magic.

Dean gets more and more worried. Before he can warn his brother, a violent burst of magic explodes around them, and they black out again.

 

Dean blinks a few times, shielding his eyes from the sun with his hand, his face painful against what’s obviously moss and dirt. It’s daylight, now? How long has he been unconscious?

“Sammy?”

“Still living,” his brother groans near him, obviously in the same state as he is. “Where are we?”

Dean rolls on his side and gets up, wiping the dew and saliva from his cheek with the back of his hand as he looks around him.

Forest. Forest everywhere. The sound of nature surrounds him. Dean throws his hands up in frustration, and help his brother on his feet.

“Great. We’ve been teleported! Where?! Oh please, not in some north backwater, I’m already sick of hitch-hiking with a hillbilly! I left Baby in Pennsylvania!”

“Stop screaming, my head is going to explode,” Sam winces. But he starts walking to a random direction without waiting for Dean.

Dean follows him with a sigh. They’re headed south, maybe they’ll fall on a road before getting to the Canadian border.

They walk for hours, the sun is now high on the sky, and Dean is not reassured. Since they started walking, they didn’t find any trace of human civilization. Maybe they’re not in the states. Maybe they’re _really in Canada_. Sam stops, and he seems as worried as Dean.

“Don’t you find that strange?”

“What?”

“The sky. No airplane. Not a single one.”

“Gosh, who would’ve thought Canada is such a backwater land?” And he finds himself laughing at his own joke. Maybe he’s more stressed than he thought. When he turns towards his brother, Sam’s look makes his stop laughing almost immediately. “Oh, come on! That was funny!”

“I’m not sure we’re in Canada. I wonder…”

The sound of gallop stops him in his sentence, and they’re suddenly overtaken by an entire battalion of mounted men.

Not just men.

Dean gasps at the sight before him. A dozen _armored_ men on _horse_ _s_ just ran past them. Armored… not really armored, but they wear leather and fur like some sort of overpaid _larp_! They shout something incomprehensible at them, and even Sam is bewildered near him.

“Where are we, Sam? What sort of country is this!”

Sam doesn’t answer him. Instead, he runs through the woods, following the guys until they attain the edge of the forest.

A farm, an actual medieval farm stands in front of them, attacked by the men on horses.

“I don’t think we’re in America anymore,” Dean whispers, too chocked to say otherwise.

Sam shakes his head, his face pale.

“Thanks Sherlock.”


	2. Help from Above

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was just a poor farmer! Why did this happen to me? Who are those Winchesters??

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a different point of view for this chapter, I do hope you love random things  
> yatta yatta, new chapter!   
> enjoy!

‘Tis a good day indeed. Sun’s warm, crops are good. The children are playing outside, and later in the morning they will help with work, and everything will be done in time. Arnott stretches his arms and yawns, turning the broth on the fire while his wife Onora finishes to dress their younger child, a cute lil’ girl of two years only, but she seems strong, as she survived the winter and didn’t got sick.

“You done with the girl?” he asks his wife who’s in the other room.

“Almost! She’s _squirmish_!” she laughs aloud, and Arnott fins himself laughing with her.

But Onora appears soon enough, the girl strapped to her back with a linen scarf, and she’s beautiful.

“Let’s get to work, eh?” Arnott offers her his arm, and she takes it with another laugh, mimicking the noblemen like a parody. Once their hoods are in place, they leave the house and get to work.

Later that day, while the children help with the chores by pulling the weeds off and pushing the rocks aside, Arnott stops in his tracks to look at the forest. Their fields aren’t wide nor vast, but they’re cut from the village by the woods, and that’s fine by him. His five children can live in peace, and a good walk never killed anyone. But today Arnott doesn’t feel at ease at the idea of being so lonely and away from the others. Can’t really blame him, there’s been a few attacks on his farm, nothing he couldn’t handle. Today that feels… different. And he hates being right.

The sound of horses and men echoes through the wood with an eerie tone.

“Whaddya say, Onora?”

“I say that’s bad news, Arnott.”

Arnott turns to his wife and frowns. He’d say the same.

“Get the children inside. Go in the cellar, I’ll be right behind you.”

Though she doesn’t seem pleased with the idea, she quickly obeys and guides the four children to the cellar, even the oldest one who seemed eager to help his dad from the top of his eight years.

And soon enough they arrive. They are numerous, more than he could have imagined, probably some nord-ish barbarians, invaders again against his kind land. Do they speak his tongue?

“Halt! I’ll give you food and materials, but spare my land and my family!”

They don’t stop. Arnott is more and more afraid as he clenches his hands around the handle of his hoe. The first man raises his weapon, a poor-made sword that has seen better days and other death, and Arnott closes his eyes, knowing it will be the death of him. He simply wishes he could have saved his family…

A loud bang echoes around them, frightening horses and men alike, and a loud _thud_ near Arnott makes him open an eye. His attacker is on the ground, cold dead alright, a single hole in the leather of his back. The farmer raises his eyes towards the forest and see two men, too far to have done anything! They don’t seem to be with the attackers, because all the invaders have turned their horses to the forest also, and they shout something at the men. That doesn’t stop those weird strangers from coming right to them! One of them, the taller one, raises a shiny piece of fine metal, and the second after, with a loud bang another of the men falls from his horse, dead alike.

Witchcraft! Arnott takes the advantage to stick his tool right in the leg of the closest attacker, and the man fall with a loud cry, stamped by his own frightened horse. The farmer makes a wince before resuming to defend his land. But with the strangers it’s only a matter of minutes to kill everyone. Fine knives, witchcraft… and yet they’ve protected him, and doesn’t seem to want to butcher him. What are those strangers? From this close Arnott can see their clothes are nothing like he knows, not even from the invaders or the men from the south. Their talk between them, and their language is gibberish for the farmer. Who are they? What are they? Again, the taller one, the one that isn’t covered by the blood of their enemies, tries to talk to him, but Arnott frantically shakes his head. He’s afraid, but clear enough to see those two men aren’t a threat. Not yet.

“Who are you, friends? You saved my land, and I’m thankful, but if you speak for the evils, then you must be gone!”

The tall man tries another language, and that one Arnott recognizes, even if he doesn’t understand a word he’s saying! It’s… it’s what, the speak of those men from the south, those who raise churches and monk-houses everywhere! People are talking about them, some say they’ll be everywhere in a few! So these men are from the south? The shorter one looks at his fella with a weird look, and once again they exchange in their weird tongue. But.

But Arnott is grateful, the gods must have sent him those weird men, to protect his family and children. They do not speak of evil, they seem humble, and yet they are very powerful. There’s something about them… He can’t tell, but he’s not afraid of them. When Arnott start talking again, they quickly hide their weapons through different pockets his their numerous layers of strange clothing.

“I’m Arnott.” He points at him, “Arnott.”

The shorter one catches on.

“Dean,” he points at him. Then to the taller one, “Sam.” And showing them both, he proudly says “Winchesters,” with a smile that would have made the most difficult girl melt right away.

Is this the name of their tribe? Their country? The pronunciation is strange, difficult, but Arnott wouldn’t want to insult his saviors by pronouncing badly the name of they country. So they are… Winchesters, eh? Probably far from the Frankish lands, then. Maybe they’re from the islands. Or maybe from the far East, from the mountains? He… He has no idea. But he’s not defeated.

He hears his oldest son, Loys, run to him with a shout, but all the blood and the bodies… Arnott shouts at him to go inside, and the boy obeys without batting an eyelid. Onora is at the door, their little girls in his arms. When he turns again to the strangers, he’s surprised to see they are already at work, dragging the bodies and bickering about something he can’t understand, but by the look of it the shorter one, Dean, isn’t pleased with the holes their magic weapons left on the bodies. They stack the corpses and look at Arnott. What do they want? Ah. To burn the bodies. Maybe that’s how they do it, in the Winchesters… lands. Arnott nods and goes to the house to catch some fire. He quickly comes backand help them finish the pyre, before throwing his torch on the bodies.

His fields are safe.

 

After a while of watching the bodies burn, Onora comes shyly to him, and Arnott takes her in his arms.

“Are they friendly?” she asks with a soft tone, like she doesn’t want to be heard.

“They are, they saved us with magic. They are Winchesters, and they don’t speak our tongue, so you can stop whispering,” he laughs. “I think we could invite them to eat. After all, they made us win eight horses, and they helped us kill invaders. We owe them that much!”

She nods, not as happy as he is, but she doesn’t make any comment and she simply goes home. Arnott sighs. Maybe he shouldn’t invite those guys.

A single look at them crumbles his doubts. Hells, he’ll invite them, he’ll offer them food, and they’ll have a place to sleep! He pats Dean on the shoulder, ignoring the shocked stare he receives, and goes home to tell his family they’ll have company for diner. With his son, Arnott takes the horses, attaches them and guides them to his barn, where he stocks them with his two pigs. They’ll find a use for them, and if not, well, Loys will have a horse to learn how to ride. By the time he’s done, the Winchesters are still near the pyre, scattering the smoldering bones, looking for… something. They must have strange customs, where they come from. Arnott calls them by their names, it does the trick, and gestures towards the house.

“My work’s not finished, but if you want, you can rest.”

He then gestures at the tools, to try and make himself understandable.

That doesn’t work. The Winchesters talk to each other, then smile, nod, and take the tools to help him.

…

Alright. Arnott accepts the help, and they seem capable with their hands. By dusk, the work is done, and Onora looks a little less frightened by their mysterious saviors. Loys looks impressed, he tried from time to time to interact with Dean, but so far they’ve only managed to make each other laugh.

When comes diner-time, the Winchesters are completely uncomfortable, and Arnott tries his best to make his guests at ease. He serves them good portions of broth, and a whole lobster each.

“I’m sorry, we don’t have anything better,” he apologizes. “But it’ll fill your stomach!”

By the look on their faces, they’ve never seen a lobster in their lives. Maybe they’re further from sea than Arnott thought. Anyway, he starts eating his own lobster, oblivious of the effect it has on his guests. Onora eats only a little, observing the Winchesters as they comment on the menu in their own language, her children gathered around her like she’s trying to protect them. But so far nothing happened. Maybe nothing will.

When the diner is finished, Arnott guides the Winchesters to the barn, where they install a place to sleep, and the strangers are happy to help, none at all bothered by the fact they’ll be sleeping with animals. Or maybe they’re hiding it well. Eh, Arnott can’t tell. He eventually let them at peace, as he goes to join his wife and children in his home.

Tomorrow will be another day.

 

 

“I can’t believe we’re sleeping in a fucking barn after having worked on the field, I mean what are we, peasants?! Where are we?”

Sam stretches himself, completely in pain with the day. He doesn’t really listen to his brother’s complaints, he’s happy to be alive, and happy to have found friends in this weird dimension. He just… he wishes he knew where they actually ended. From the clothes, from the customs, from the _lobsters_? They’re in Europe, and by the lack of Christianity, probably really early in the middle-age. The question is: are they in another dimension, or actually back in time? If there’s back in time…

“Sam? Sam you’re not listening to me!”

“If we’re back in time, and even teleported to another location, then we have to make sure not to do anything to change the future, right?”

“I dunno… I mean… so far we only ran past _timeloops_ , right? I mean, with dad’s father and everything?”

“… You mean this was supposed to happen?”

The brother fall silent.

“shit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, it's not a fic about a peasant! or is it?  
> see ya tomorrow!


	3. Market Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The brothers have yet to discover the differences *and* the similarities between the past and their time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, here is another un-beta chapter that I hope you'll enjoy!

Sam wakes up with a start, groggy and not knowing where he is. He has hay in his hair, a horse looking at him with an unimpressed glare, and Dean is loudly snoring in a haystack not far from him. It looks like the end of a very _very_ drunk night. Ah, yes, the time travel. The farmer, Arnott, and his wife… they let them sleep in their barn after they saved and helped them. Sam stands up and stretches with a yawn. That was actually more comfortable that he thought, but he misses his bed already. And his bunker. And Cas.

Castiel.

Sam kicks Dean to wake him up, and his older brother opens his eyes with a shout, his gun immediately in his hands.

“good reflexes,” Sam mocks him. “Time to wake up.”

“Time to…” Dean groans, “It’s not even daylight! What time is it?”

“I’m not sure, my watch didn’t survive the trip through time, as well as my phone. When I switched it on, it was midnight, January the first 2000. I miss my old phone, the one that survived the trip to the western world,” he laughs, “but… I dunno, morning I guess.”

“No church to tell the hour?”

“Not at this time and place.”

Dean yawns and gets up as well, dusting his clothes from hay and dirt with a sigh. No technology, nothing, Sam can understand his brother’s bad mood. But he has more important to tell.

Before Sam can even begin his explanations a sound echoes by the door, and the farmer woman, Onora, enters the barn and stops to look at them, her heavy bucket in her hands. She seems suspicious under her hood, and the brother are no fools as to what shines to her belt under her coat. Sam tries to cute his way out of the embarrassing situation.

“Hi,” he says with a smile, “We, uh, you need a hand?” he gestures at the bucket, and when she eventually hands it to him he takes it with another smile.

Dean stays silent the whole time, ill-at-ease at the idea of being bossed around by a woman with a knife. But Sam’s efforts seem to pay, as Onora finally relaxes in their presence. She even makes a shy smile to Sam, that’s a win. They’re invited to the house.

The children are all already up, running here and there in the house with shouts and laughs while they play with a large dog, and Arnott is ready to work despite the early hour. Several baskets with various products are patiently waiting on the table, and Sam quickly understood it’s for selling. They are going in town. Onora approaches her husband and once again she whispers to him like she’s afraid to be heard by the brothers. He nods a few times, frowns then looks at them with circumspection. Dean elbows his brother in the ribs.

“What are they talking about? They’re looking at us, I don’t like that.”

“Aouch. Do I look like I understand what’s happening?”

“Well, _you_ _should_.”

Arnott comes to them with a kind smile, and he tries to explain them something, but they still don’t understand so he surrenders and calls for Onora. The girl comes with a smile and a sort of measuring tape, and she turns around Dean with dexterity as she measures him from head to toe and shoulder to shoulder.

“What’s she doing??” Dean panics, not daring to move a finger.

“She’s measuring you, what do you think? I guess they can’t leave us here when they’re gone, even with the dog here, and they can’t allow us to leave the farm with our clothes, because we’re not blending in. Other suggestions?”

Onora finishes her business around Dean, and she nods at Arnott with a short sentence. Then she approaches Sam, and already she seems bothered. Sam knows he’s not really the type of guy you can lend clothes to. He’s…

“She already finds you too tall, isn’t that great Sammy?”

“Shut up,” Sam mumbles, following Onora with his eyes.

The girl winces a little as she looks at them both, but she quickly disappears in the other room. Arnott asks them to follow him, and the Winchester do without complaining. Even if that means having their hands in the mud again. And by the time they’re done with the chores, Dean wants to get out of there so badly he’s singing smutty songs out loud to decompress.

But eventually Onora joins them, and Arnott decides it’s enough farm work for the day and they probably have to get going. She hands them two piles of clothing, and drags them to the house so they can change.

 

Dean stares at the clothes with curiosity mixed with disgust.

“Those guys don’t have any sense of style.”

“That’s not their problem. At least we’ll blend in,” Sam replies with a sigh.

The clothes aren’t that bad, despite what Dean says. Simple linen pants and shirt, a thick cape with a hood. they look less like twenty-first century guys, and more like…

“We look like servants in a Larp,” Dean states, deadpan, as he looks at himself.

“Stop complaining!”

and they leave the house to help Arnott and Onora and all their kids.

The walk to the village is silent for the adults, only disturbed by the chit-chat of the kids ahead of them. Sam looks at their surroundings, thinking about what to do next. They can’t stay with Arnott forever. They have to find a way to go home, whether by magic or by angelic mean. And angels, he thought about it. He simply didn’t have time to talk to Dean about that. And Dean seems occupied with other things, like plants and trees, and looking to the forest around him like it’s the first time he’s in the woods. Sam decides he’ll talk to him later. Eventually they arrive to the village, already full of people and activity and stands, loud with bargains and barters. Even if the population is a far cry from the overcrowded streets of their time, they make up with twice the sound! Sam doesn’t know where to look, there’s too much to discover in this single place! So he simply follows Arnott, amazed with every sight. Dean, however…

When Sam turns around to talk to his brother, he finds him smiling to a girl in the crowd, winking at her in a suggestive manner.

“Dean, seriously? You can’t even talk to her!”

“Sammy, where we going we don’t need to talk,” he simply says before following the girl. “See ya later, don’t leave without me!”

“I’m going to leave you here!” But it’s no use, Dean already disappeared. Sam sighs and resumes his walk in the market. It’s not like there’s anything else to do in the place, there’s no library, no official records. There’s just… drinks and foods and stuff. And people he can’t talk with because he doesn’t understand a single thing that’s said around him.

But he does recognize cries when he hears it.

A woman is kneeling near a cart, crying and screaming, clinging on a man like her life depends on it. On the cart, some sort of ragged sheet hide a body, already tainted with blood. Now, it could have only been a dramatic event, but Sam, pushed by some morbid curiosity, wanted to know more. Wanted to know if it was _weird_. So he discreetly approaches the group gathered around the cart, and stays silent as the people exchange with vehemency, shouting to be heard above the woman’s agony. He stands near the cart for a while, not wanting to overstep, and eventually his patience his rewarded when a man simply pulls off the sheet to show the body, creating another wave of wailing from the woman.

The mother, Sam understands.

The mutilated corpse of a little boy lies cold on the cart, probably dead for a few days by the decaying state of it. His clothes have been torn, his flesh lacerated by large claws. Now, if Sam was an amateur, it would have passed for an animal attack. A bear? A wolf? But it isn’t. The lack of heart, ripped from the ribcage with a hole so big the lungs are left in the open, tells otherwise. Sam bites his cheek and frowns, and he leaves the group of mourning people to try and find Dean.

 

He hears his brother’s laughter in a little house behind a tailor shop, and enters without having being invited. He flings the door open, not minding the fact that is brother is half naked with an _autochthon_. Sam simply turns away to give them a minimum of privacy. Gosh, if he could get the image out of his eyes.

“Dean, get up, get dressed, we have to go.”

“Seriously, Sam? Like… now? You _knew_ I was…”

“We have a werewolf attack.”

Dean stays silent for a moment, and finally Sam can hear him get ups and get dressed, just as he requested. The girl starts talking in her native gibberish, but since none of the brothers understand, she’s left alone with her questions.

They walk out of the tailor shop, Dean fighting with his cape to strap it back on his shoulders, ans cross the market place once again as Sam guides Dean towards the cart, hoping they didn’t leave so soon.

“You serious? I mean… You sure? Like… Our werewolves?”

“A little boy have been found dead. He shows signs of a werewolf attack: lacerations, heart missing. He’s probably dead for a few days, but we can’t know how werewolves were reacting… are reacting in this period. Are they leaving immediately after an attack? Are they staying for a few more days? It’s rather cold, and by the vegetables they’re selling we’re almost winter. They don’t exactly have a car to leave fast and far. So?”

“Are we seriously on a case right now?” Dean sighs. “Alright, show me the body.”

They arrive at the cart, where the little boy still is. His mother stopped crying, but she’s apathetic near the cart, while the man who’s obviously her husband talks with other men. Dean whistles at the sight in front of him.

“When’s the last time we saw an attack that violent?”

“A while ago. They literally tore his ribcage open. You in?”

“Why not? It’s not because we’re in the past that we have to stop doing our job. Where do we start?”

They stay silent. They can’t pretend to be cops, they can’t interrogate, ask around, lie. They have no lead, no help, no understanding of the place.

Sam clears his throat.

“Let’s start looking around. It’s going to be a painful case.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's a supernatural fanfiction without a case?  
> ah-AH! Werewolves!


	4. A Wolf at Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trying to figure out what's going on in a village when you understand peanuts is not going to be easy. Also, werewolves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first case!   
> enjoy!

Dean stops in a less crowded street of the little village and starts emptying his pocket, hoping he didn’t leave his silver knife in the impala. He smiles when he finds his “wolf-killing baby”, and turns to Sam to see if he’s prepared as well.

“So… Time loop or not? If not we can’t use our guns, right?”

“Dude,” Sam sighs, “you screwed a medieval girl without thinking about consequences. Now you’re having second thoughts?”

“Fair enough,” Dean replies with a pout. “But still. Only knives? Or knives _and_ guns?”

“Did you take silver bullets?”

Ah, Dean realizes. There’s only witch-killing bullets in his gun. Everything else was in the trunk. He shakes his head, and they both agree the gun is a bad idea anyway. Better that than crying over a cartridge, Dean thinks. At least they have their silver knives.

“I suggest we discreetly go around town to see if there’s other signs of werewolf presence, and then we go to the woods, maybe to the place where they found the boy. The cart must have left trace, no?”

“I suppose it did. You know what? I’ll check if there’s traces, and you go in ‘town’.”

“Be careful,” Dean simply says before leaving his brother to check the small village.

He’s not happy about the situation. What if Sam runs into trouble? But he can’t really complaint, his brother is a big boy, he can take care of himself. Right? He shakes his head to clear his mind, and focuses on the case.

The village is absolutely not what he expected. He always pictured medieval villages like hamlets around churches. Or cities insides great walls, like Winterfell in Game of Thrones, but so far there’s only farms and houses, and no castle in view. Maybe he’s in the wrong part of the country. But castle or not, there’s monsters out there. He knew the monsters are plaguing humanity for a very long time, but seeing it is something else entirely. Also, he has no idea how to get out of there and go home, and maybe Sam had an idea, because he tried to talk to him all morning. Well, he’ll ask him after they take care of the werewolf.

Dean starts his investigation in the center of the village. The market is still in full activity, even if the air has somehow got a foul taste. Fear, unease, sadness. Dean assumes that the kid was known by almost everyone from the place, or maybe people now fear for their own children. He has a brief thought for Arnott’s five children, remembering he didn’t say to the farmer who helped them where they were going. Maybe he’ll apologize later. Pulling his hood on his head, Dean goes deeper in the few streets composing the village, in hope of finding some traces, maybe a mark of territory. What are the werewolves doing to keep away from humans? Were they always so fearful of being hunted down, or were they owning the place at this time? He has no idea. So he inspects every corner, takes note of every weird thing around him. Unfortunately everything looks weird for him, and Dean finds himself wandering in the village like a lost and confused man. He would’ve drawn a picture to show people around, but he sucks at drawing. And people already look at him like he’s weird or crazy.

Exasperated, Dean eventually retreats from the village to find some peace further from the market, and he seats under a tree to breathe a little. Maybe Sam is luckier, maybe the cart leads somewhere noteworthy. Ready to get up, Dean looks up to search for a branch to help him get on his feet, and he stops in his move to frown. He fumbles to stand, and takes a closer look at the tree. Are those…?

Dean almost runs to his brother. He has to show him this.

 

 

“Are those… claws marks?”

“Yep.”

Sam frowns and examines the marks in the bark, and Dean simply waits for him and to see if his little brother comes to the same conclusion as his.

“Well, if it was a bear it would be larger…” Sam starts.

“… And if it was a wolf it would be lower,” Dean finishes.

They exchange a look before staring at the marks again.

“So werewolves mark their territories like that. It’s good to know, I guess? What do we do with it?” Sam asks, still examining the bark.

“With that we can establish a perimeter, maybe that doesn’t represent their _hunting ground_.”

“So that would be their nesting ground. Maybe that’s where they return after a hunt. That would make sense. If the attacks were frequent here, then the villagers would know how to protect their children. Not letting them go by themselves and all that. _But_ if the werewolves sleep here but hunt elsewhere…”

“They think they’re safe here,” Dean proudly says. “They have a nest here, and someone in the pack screwed up by killing a local boy! Aren’t we the smartest guys ever?”

Dean holds his fist, awaiting for a _brofist_ , and eventually Sam yields with a sigh as they make a perfect fist bump. And they start looking for other traces to lead them to the nest.

 

At the end of the day, Sam and Dean found exactly fifteen traces around the village and in the fields and woods. That’s… a lot of marks. They also found a place where a suspiciously lot of bones are stacked, away from the village. But still, no werewolf. It’s almost night, they walked for hours, and yet the only thing they raised were confused stares and questioning glares. Dean is so done for the day.

“You know what? I think I’m gonna head towards the farm and find myself a nice stack of hay to s…” he doesn’t finish his sentence as he’s brutally pinned down in the dirt. He hears his brother’s shout of pain not far from him, so he struggles to free himself but so far he only manages to plunge the claws of his attackers deeper into his shoulders. Again, a female voice talks to him… but he still doesn’t understand a single word. What he understands, however, is what the too many jewelries on the girl’s bloody hands mean.

“Sammy? You alive?!”

“OCCUPIED AT THE MOMENT!” So his brother is alive and struggling, that’s good. That’s great.

Dean doubles his efforts to get out, and eventually he manages to get the girl out of him. Usually he doesn’t mind having a feral girl on his lap, but here? Said girl wears some kind of good-looking dress, albeit torn at its ankles, and her belt as well as bracelets seem to be well-made, rich, and not from here.

She’s rich.

… Right?

He’ll have to ask Sam.

The girl doesn’t let Dean catch his breath, she immediately attacks him again, jumping at him and going for the jugular. Dean only has time to step aside, and he feels his arm being lacerated above the elbow. With a curse he grabs his knife with the other hand, and he cuts the girl’s cheek. The effect is immediate, smoke rises into the air, accompanying the girl’s cry of pain and growls of anger. Dean looks around him to search for his brother, and he finds him grappling with a large man, strong enough to kill a horse with his bare hands by the look of it… But so is Sam so it’s okay. Dean can concentrate on his girl, a smile on his face.

“Usually I don’t do that the first night,” he jokes, but he quickly realizes she doesn’t understand so he abandons his usual sass to concentrate on the fight.

They eventually win in blood and gore and silver, and Dean goes to sit next to his brother as they try to even their ragged breath.

“So… not hidden,” Dean says after a while. “What the fuck?”

“I… I don’t know,” Sam admits, “I don’t understand. I thought… but… uh, I saw that guy, he talked with the victim’s father. I guess? You know what, Dean? I think we have a lot to understand before we can make cases the way we used to be. Right now we need a shower.”

Dean laughs a little. Yeah, they’re a sight for sore eyes. Those werewolves were savage, and it’s more difficult without their good old-fashioned guns. Everything’s easier with guns. That, and actually understanding what’s happening around them. Sam gets up with a groan, and Dean can see he’s hurt at several spots. He thinks about his own injury and sighs. They need medical supplies… Or at least clean clothes to take care of the wounds. So he gets up too and they start walking in silence to the farm.

“So, Sam, you wanted to talk to me this morning?”

“Dude, it’s night, we’re hurt, tired, and in the middle of the woods. Besides, there’s no proof there was only two werewolves. That can wait.”

Dean stops talking. Sam’s right, but still. He’s a little vexed. Eventually he starts talking again, because alone in the woods is a little too boring and frightening at the same time.

“You think there were the village’s protector? Like… ‘share your production with us and we protect you from the wolves! Don’t, and your family will be cursed upon!’ that kind of guys? It bugs me to not know.”

Sam seems to think about it this time. Then he nods.

“If that’s it, then we have to stay a little longer to be sure there’s no werewolf anymore, maybe the village will be at peace.”

And they finally arrive at the border of the woods, where Arnott’s fields start. But this isn’t a joyful sight.

Smoke everywhere. Large volutes of dark smoke rises from the farm, not hidden by the dense forest anymore. The entire fields are silent, the kind of silence the brothers hate hearing. They run towards the house, hoping they could find… nothing, hoping there’s nobody inside. But it’s a sweet dream. At the very front door, what’s left of it still smoldering and crumbling, the blackened bones of an arm, a single arm, lies still. Sam immediately goes for the house, while Dean runs towards the barn to see if someone hid in it. But there’s only the butchered corpses of all the animals, minus two horses that disappeared. They killed everything.

They killed everyone.

Sam comes back, his face grim, and he shakes his head. So, no one survived.

“How many bodies?”

“All of them. Even the youngest,” the word are croaked in his brother’s throat, and Dean can see with the moonlight Sam is on the verge of crying.

“Alright. Okay. We, uh, we have to do something. We can gather the… the remains and… we’ll give them proper cremation. What do you think? We’ll find who did this and we’ll make them pay. If that’s the werewolves, or anyone else. We’ll make them pay.”

But his words sound empty even to his own ears. Once again they start from nothing, and once again they leave trails of bodies behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am... so sorry.   
> But, hey, that's life. And most of all, that's *Supernatural*.  
> See you tomorrow, and thank you for the love!


	5. From Bad to Worse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If the brothers thought they would be out of trouble for the day, then they should have known better than that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, that's optimistic! Don't worry, though, I'll try not to kill anyone!

It’s Dean’s turn to stumble into the burned house, and Sam waits a few minutes before going in again. He saw his fair share of bodies over the years, but he doesn’t grow used to it. The smell of burned flesh still fills the air along the scents of smoldering wood. By the barn, the sickening stench of fresh guts is more unbearable than the fire’s odors, so Sam knows where he’d rather be. But still. An entire family just burned. They’ve been tortured and burned. It’s probably because of them. Because they helped them, gave them shelter. The greatest mistake they made was the trip to the market. And whoever did this… It’s not the werewolves. Why burn the house down? Why cut off Arnott’s arm before even setting everything on fire? It doesn’t fit, it’s not… The werewolves are not known for their pyromaniac tendencies. Not now not ever. The only monsters using fire Sam knows are the dragons. And if dragons were in the area, they would’ve eaten something. Maybe the two horse missing?… No, that’s not it. Something human killed them. The question is: why? Was it the rest of the invaders? Was it the villagers? Why?

“You coming or what?”

Sam raises his head at the shout, awoken from whatever morbid thought he was in, and he eventually enters the house, carefully not stepping on anything. The clothes drying near the barn have been spared by the fire, So they use them to stack the bodies, and keep a few to clean their wounds. They use what’s left of wood and hay from the house and barn to make a pyre, and give the family a proper cremation. When the flames rise in the air, Dean sighs and seats on a haystack near the pyre.

“Alright talk to me. What’s on your mind?” he asks his brother, his eyes locked on the fire.

“I, uh, I have no idea why they died,” Sam states, as composed as he can manage, “but that’s not the werewolves. That’s no monster, they haven’t been _eaten_ , they’ve been murdered. Dean, is it because of us?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. Probably.” He doesn’t elaborate. “Where’s our stuff? Don’t tell me they left with it.”

“No, that’s unlikely. I buried it.”

“You what?” But Sam knows he doesn’t need to repeat himself. “Okay, where did you bury it? That’s a smart move, I have to admit but… Man, that’s kind of paranoid.”

“That’s _not_ , I figured if we have to leave everything behind, better not leave it where the first thief can find it! It’s… I don’t even have to _explain myself_ to you, let’s go get our stuff.”

And he brutally gets up and goes behind the farm. Under a few poorly stacked planks, unnoticeable to who looks for something suspicious, there’s a patch of freshly moved dirt. Grabbing a shovel, Sam digs up a bag and gives it to Dean. They check inside to make sure nothing has been damaged, but everything seems fine. Dean gets his gun out of the bag to inspect it more thoroughly, and Sam sighs.

“Here, Everything’s in order. We, uh, better salvage what we can from the farm before going. Then we’ll go to the river, it’s just down the hill.”

Dean mumbles about the cold and the dirt, and something about ‘diseases’ but Sam doesn’t have time to spare to his brother’s complaints. He goes back to the farm and pushes aside carbonized wood and destroyed furniture in hope of finding something worth the effort. And he finds it. The trapdoor to the underground cellar in nothing but a piece of charcoal, but the fire didn’t spread inside, mostly because of the lack of wood. The cellar is so little Sam can’t stand up inside, but it’s fresh and almost unharmed.

Inside, there’s few bags of wheat, dried meat, and a little box so well hidden Sam almost didn’t see it. Sam crouches near the box, a metallic one without decoration, and he opens it. Inside are coins, a shiny metallic unclosed circle Sam recognize as a necklace, and a decorated fibula. So that’s all the riches they had. Once again, this left untouched by the attackers means they weren’t here to steal. They were here to kill. Sam closes the box and leaves it be, there’s nothing for them inside. What he takes, however, is dried meat. A lot. Then he leaves the little cellar, and once he’s outside he sees Dean’s ready to go, the bag on his shoulder, hidden by his cape. Sam dusts his own clothes and nods. They can leave.

They stop by the river to clean themselves and their wounds. The sun is almost up, throwing pink light between the trees but still unable to warm the air. It’s cold. Sam misses his shower. Dean seems to think the same, but he doesn’t complaint, that’s unlike him. Maybe he’s more tired than Sam thought.

“Dean? You okay?”

“Mh?”

“You want to talk about it?”

“About what?” Dean asks. “About what happened? What? You want to share feelings? Maybe cuddle, do yoga? I’ll find some frozen yogurt, you find a tv, maybe we’ll watch F.R.I.E.N.D.S after our therapy session.”

Sam sighs. What did he expect, seriously? He cleans with wounds with a hiss, makes sure nothing is infected. The last thing he needs is falling sick in the dark ages. That’s a death warrant.

The forest is full of noise, cracks and chirps, the occasional flaps of a bird.

A voice.

Sam and Dean exchange a glance and immediately go for their knives before hiding behind a bush. And soon enough a man steps out of the shadows to approach the river. he’s talking, so there’s others with him, Sam realizes. A quick glance towards his brother, and he can tell Dean’s thinking the same thing. Then a noise echoes behind them, and the brothers turn around like one man. Two other men rush towards them. Quickly, Sam steps aside to avoid the first, and he grabs the other to punch him in the face, then kicks him in the stomach. Dean takes care of the third with a well-thrown punch in the throat. When the first one comes back with some sort of war cry, Sam finishes him with a violent kick in the knees.

“What do we do with them?” Dean asks, looking for his breath.

“What? I don’t know! … Do we kill them?”

“Well, they want us dead and we can’t know why. But they’re human.”

“Maybe we can just… you know… knock them out? They weren’t really a threat.”

“If that goes wrong you’ll have yourself to blame,” Dean mumbles, but he does as his brother wants, and they knock the attackers unconscious before grabbing their stuff and running.

That’s not ideal. They’re still wounded, exhausted, and it reminds Sam of their misfortunes with the government, the day they escaped the _black_ _site_. And he’s just tired of running everywhere they go. So he stops and sighs. Dean does the same, throwing a questioning look at him.

“Alright. That’s enough. We don’t even know where we’re going. Let’s, uh, let’s take a moment to think, no?”

“Think about _what_ , Sam? We’re in the middle of the woods, in the middle of the _medieval times_ , attacked by who knows what cult! We understand _nothing_ , we have _nothing_ , people are dead! Now, do you have any idea? Because I’m all ears, Sammy!”

Sam feels he’s losing his temper. “The angels!” he says a little too loudly, throwing his arms up in frustration. “The angels can bring us back in time! They already did it twice! The archangels are still alive today, and we know the spell to call them! Christ, Dean, are you even _thinking_?”

The shouting probably doesn’t help, but Sam is too tired to care, and too angry to notice. Dean also loses his temper, and he snarls.

“Oh, because the angels love us _so much_ , I forgot! And they were _soooo_ active on earth at this time! They will never accept to help us! As soon as they’ll know we’re here they’re going to kill us! What world are you living in, Sammy? A world where people help us?”

“We didn’t even _try_! How can you know it won’t work??”

“Because every time we asked angels for help it did us more bad than good!”

Sam’s ready to shout again, but the snap of a branch not far alerts him they’re not alone. Dean seems not to be done with the argument, and Sam has to shush him several times to make him silent. The brothers unsheathe their knives like one man.

“Alright,” Dean whispers, “maybe arguing in the middle of the woods wasn’t our best move.”

“I’m still thinking the angels are our best shot.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Sam, will you shut up?”

Sam shrugs and crouch to be less visible in the woods. They walk away as discreetly as they can, looking around to try to see between the trees what kind of foe they’re against. Since they can’t see a thing, Sam decides to make a bold move. He shows his flashlight to his brother, and Dean nods after a time of hesitation. So, Sam lightens up the device and scans the area. Though he can’t see anyone, they clearly hear the gasps and whispers around.

“so much for discretion,” Sam cringes, but he doesn’t lower the flashlight. “I supposed we have to fight. Again.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll kick their ass. Then we can sleep and heal,” Dean assures him with his usual phlegm. That doesn’t reassure Sam.

Again they’re attacked by a group of men, armed like mercenaries in a tv show but without a real martial knowledge. Sam and Dean, used to close combat, defeat them easily, and once again they leave them crying on the ground.

“This time I’m not letting them go, you hear me Sam?” Dean shouts, and Sam can tell he’s outraged.

But before he can say anything more, two arrows whistle between the bushes… and pin Dean against the bark of the tree with violence.

“DEAN!!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lied.


	6. Survivors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Dean badly hurt and their enemies so violent, Sam is left with no choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, fair warning: there's a lot of dead people out there.  
> But as I said, that's Supernatural. That doesn't deserve a tag, because it's canon-violence. So I'll just assume you're warned and prepared.  
> Enjoy!

Fastened in the back of a cart pulled by a horse, curled up near his brother, Sam tries to forget the throbbing pain in his head as he focuses on Dean’s ragged breath.

“Stay with me, Dean, talk to me,” he whispers, hoping their attackers don’t care if they talk or not.

Dean chokes on an answer, his face painted with pain and blood streaming from his mouth. Sam winces, he can’t lose his brother like that. So he creeps closer to Dean, checks on his injuries as best as he can. They took the two arrows that were drilled on Dean’s abdomen, but not without causing more damages, and Sam can’t know for sure if they hit an organ. At least they stopped the bleeding, though Sam can’t understand why. Why do they want them alive? What do they want?? he let himself be captured because he couldn’t possibly get out of there with Dean in this state, but he doesn’t surrender yet. He’s just… waiting for the right time?

A bump on the road makes the cart jump, and Dean groans in pain as he rolls on his back. The bandages are already soaked in blood, and wherever they’re going, he’s not going to make it to the end. Sam doesn’t know what to do. Pray to the angels? Not with Dean dying. They could save him… or end him and there’s nothing Sam could do to stop them. Pray to _Chuck_? The guy didn’t lift a finger to stop the freakin’ apocalypse! No, he’s all alone in this. He has to think, he has to find a way to–

The cart suddenly stops and the men stop walking, they talk between them with vehemence and Sam takes advantage of the situation to unfasten his hands while they’re left unattended. He moves as slow as he can, shushes his brother and re-does the bandages, ignoring Dean’s grunts of pain. The lowest arrow probably didn’t hit anything serious, but the one in the upper left… Sam doesn’t have time to check further, though, because they seem to be moving again. He slips his hands in the loosened knot and lays still, his eyes on his brother, fearing any change in Dean’s already concerning state.

Eventually they stop for good in a clearing. The sun’s high in the sky, they walked all morning without a rest, so they take a moment near a clear stream. While some are occupied with filling water skins near the stream, two other come to check on their prisoners. Sam tightens his fingers on his supposed restrains, and he grunts as he’s brutally pulled into a sitting position. The man starts talking to him, but Sam stays stubbornly silent. He has nothing to say. Their attackers, poorly dressed but well armed, look like mercenaries, and the only one that has a minimum of charisma between them all is the one talking to Sam right now, agitating Dean’s gun as he explains something incomprehensible. A leather lace is strapped around his neck, holding a wooden cross. The man is a christian, Sam realizes. When he’s caught staring at the cross, the man takes it in his hand and shows it to him, still talking. _Preaching_? Sam lowers his head when he man talks louder and louder, as if he is trying to make him understand better by shouting at him. Exasperated and in pain, Sam can’t take it anymore. He raises his head, almost head-butting the man… and he spits at his face. The others stop in their tasks to look at the scene with horror, and for a moment the time in the clearing seems to have slowed down.

“Don’t talk to me about _God_ ,” Sam growls.

The guy drops the gun and hits him so hard Sam is back in the back of the cart again. But the message is sent. He’s left alone. While Sam seats in silence, another foe approaches to change Dean’s bandages and clean the wounds. He’s not careful, but at least he doesn’t make it worse. Once he’s done he throws Dean back next to Sam, and leaves them as he goes to his group.

“You okay, Dean?”

“D…. Did you try to get yourself... k-killed, back there?” Dean grunts with difficulty, each word soaked with pain. “Listen, Sammy… you have to get out-t of here… Save your skin… I won’t make it.”

Sam shakes his head with violence.

“That’s not going to happen. I’m not leaving you here. That’s… you can’t ask that. Everything but that. I’m going to save you, and you’re going to shut up.”

Dean scoffs, but it ends in a painful cough. By the sound of his breath the lungs are okay, but he’s weaker by the hour. Sam has to do something… fast. He’s surrounded by seven men, three of them are the guys they kicked back at the river, three other are those from the forest. Suddenly Sam feels very guilty. He should have listened to Dean. They would be dead, and it would have been six less enemies.

“What do you want to do? Call the angels?” Dean stays silent for a while, looking at the crown of the trees. “I miss Cas, man… I should hav… I sh…”

“Stop it,” Sam snaps. “Just… shut up. We’ll see Cas again. And you two will get a room, and everybody will be happy.”

“What?!”

Dean coughs again, this time more violently than before. But they both laugh at Sam’s joke anyway. Eventually Dean’s cough stops and he sighs.

“Y-You free yet?”

Sam nods. “Yes. So far they haven’t noticed. But I… I’m not leaving you here, man. I’m going to find a solution, you just have to _survive_. Alright?”

Dean nods before closing his eyes with a grunt. The attackers are coming back again. “Alright. Just… hurry up.”

 

It all happens very fast. As the first of their enemies walks calmly towards them to pick up the gun, Sam suddenly drops the ropes and bolts towards him. In a single gesture he grabs his head and snaps his neck. The noise is eerie, and the man goes limp before falling on the ground with a loud thud. In seconds the clearing is filled with shouts and frenzy. Sam doesn’t wait for them to get their weapons, he picks up the gun himself and aims at the archer. Six. A _bang_ echoes between the trees, and he’s dead. Witchcraft. That’s what they’re guilty of, Sam thinks. He aims at another, but one of the attackers shows up from behind. Stepping aside, Sam avoids the blow of a blunted sword and disarms the man with ease, before impaling him on his own sword. Five. They’re becoming more and more prepared. The others are not going to be easy to kill. Sam can’t get far, he can’t leave Dean behind, he’s too weak to defend himself. An arrow strikes the wood near his head, panicking the horse, and Sam shudders, adrenaline rushing directly to his brain. He gets up and shoots again, but without proper aim his bullet hits a tree. Bad. He doesn’t have unlimited ammo. Guess he’ll have to do without guns, they have to keep their bullets for worse than a group of humans. Looking around for something to fight with, Sam lands his choice on a knife at the dead body’s belt. He takes it, gets on his feet and throws the knife so hard it penetrates one of the guys’ throat… and gets out with half the vocal cords. Four. Sam immediately goes under cover again.

“Dean?! You still alive?”

“Still k-kicking,” his brother’s hoarse voice replies. “I f-feel everything too much, though is th… is that a bad thing?”

“No, no at all,” Sam lies, “At least you’re still feeling something, right?”

He doesn’t hear his brother’s answer, another arrow plants itself in the wood of the cart. Sam winces.

The gurgle’s of a dying man resounds not far from his cover, and Sam raises his head with surprise. A man falls on his front, an arrow on his back. Three. Sam can’t see the unexpected help, he just hopes they’re not here to kill everyone. Taking another knife, Sam gets up and simply charges at one of his foes, taking him by surprise as he gores him without second thoughts. Two. Once again an arrow whistles in the clearance, aimed at the last archer. One.

The only left alive is the man with the cross. He’s on his knees, _praying_.

“… _Adveniat regnum tuum, fiat voluntas tua_ …”

Though the pronunciation is very different from what he’s used to, Sam understands which prayer he’s saying. So he lets him finish, lets him tighten his hands around his cross. But once he’s done, there’s no mercy. He’s been nice once, twice. He’s not anymore. It’s over.

Sam grabs the man by his hair and slices his throat with a precise movement.

The arrows don’t fly anymore. Whoever helped them wasn’t a bigger fish, so maybe they’re safe for the moment. Sam takes the time to go get the bullets from the body and the trees, and as soon as he’s done he rushes to his brother’s side. Dean’s still alive.

“Not your day, uh?” Sam asks, checking his wounds.

“Should have stayed in bed,” Dean jokes as he tries to sit up. He’s feverish, and Sam is growing more and more worried, not in the mood for jokes anymore. He has to find a place for his brother to stay and rest. Maybe some medicinal herbs? He’s not sure they’re still the same, more than a thousand years earlier.

“Come on we have to go,” Sam simply says. He leaves his brother’s side, ready to scavenge anything useful from the camp. He finds food, water, his bag with their stuff inside… the Bible. Well, it’s a very old version, incomplete and scribbled on a low-quality parchment. But still. Maybe that can be useful in the future, if they’re once again treated like witches.

Dean gasps behind him, and Sam drops everything to turn around, his gun in hand. But he doesn’t shoot.

Near his brother, crouched in the cart, a woman with a light-colored dress and a ragged cape. She raises her eyes when she hears the _click_ of the gun, and she raises her hands, fear in her eyes. Near her lies a bag filled with herbs, and a bow.

 

Sam lowers his gun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yey, unexpected ally? Or new enemy lurking in the shadows?  
> ah-AH!  
> See you tomorrow!


	7. Light of Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Dean fights for his life once again, a new perspective opens for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hiii sorry sorry, this one is particularly messy, but I didn't have a lot of time to do it.  
> Anyway, enjoy!

The clearing is silent except for the horse’s peaceful grazing alongside the corpses. Though he hasn’t put his gun aside, Sam decides not to appear threatening even if she’s too close to Dean for comfort. Maybe she can help. By her look, she’s not a warrior. Her dress is relatively clean, and her cape seems to have traveled into a more forests and bushes than battlefields. But even like that, he can’t tell for sure. She seems to be skilled with a bow.

“Hi,” he tries, “I’m… Sam,” he says, pointing at himself. “Sam.”

She eyes him for a moment, suspicious and ill-at-ease. But eventually she points at herself, “Alba.” Then she looks at Dean, who’s barely conscious.

Sam quickly approaches them, only slowing down when the girl flinches.

“Dean. He’s Dean, and he’s hurt. Can you help?”

“I don’t know,” Dean mumbles, “Maybe she wants to… kill us.”

“Maybe not. Shut up.” She may be their only hope.

 

 

Alba looks at these strange men, bickering in a strange language even when one of them is on his death bed. He’s resilient, she can give him that. And the other… to have faced and killed so many men with his injuries… Who are they? Why were they dragged by those mongrels? They called them witches. They said they are heretics, using dark magic. But Alba can’t believe that. If that was true, well, they wouldn’t be injured and dying. Because black magic is powerful, right? Maybe they’re something else. But Alba can’t let this guy die, or she would be a terrible doctor. The tall one, Sam, seems to trust her, for now, so Alba rolls up the sleeves of her shirt, wipes her sweaty palms on her apron, and gets to work. She checks on the wounds and winces. That’s not pretty. He should be already dead, but since he’s not…

“I can’t heal him here he’s…” she starts, but she suddenly stops as she remembers they don’t understand her. With a grunt, Alba decides to make herself comprehensible another way. She slips her hands under the wounded guy’s arms, and tries to drag him out of the cart.

Immediately the other man helps her. Alba let them figure out a way to extract the wounded while she goes to free the horse. Then, she picks up her bow and her own bag, filled with herbs and rocks and whatever useful she found in the forest. They have a long way before finding a safe place to be. She gestures at the men to follow her, and she disappears into the woods.

Alba has a good memory of these forests, she should be able to find a place to stay before the man, what’s his name, Dean? Before he dies from exhaustion and blood loss. He’s warm to the touch, too, and shivering. He’s probably feverish, maybe he’s infected. She couldn’t see through the clothes. She simply hopes their attackers correctly took off the arrows. If they ripped them off, that’s bad news for the two strangers. She doesn’t know how she’s going to announce that. They don’t even know what she’d be talking about. Great. Why does she bother? Alba skillfully avoids taking a branch right in the face, makes a face at the tree to show dominance and turns towards the river to follow it for a moment. The dying guy has stopped talking, it’s concerning, so Alba eventually decides to stop in an abandoned cave not far. The sun is not setting yet, but the air is considerably fresher. They will need a fire soon.

 

Dean grunts in pain as he’s almost carefully put on the floor of a dirty, cold, creepy cavern by his brother. It’s not a palace, but it seems to convince both the girl in the gray cape and Sam. Dean would rather be in a cheap, lame-ass motel room. But beggars can’t be choosers: they have to heal and rest. So he smiles dryly at the girl, looks daggers at Sam, and he settles more comfortably against the wall of the cavern. He hopes there’s no bear in the vicinity. That would end the day in a climax of lose.

The woman, what’s her name? Alba, she comes close to him and makes weird movements with her hands. He shrugs. Sam is nowhere to be seen, and Dean suddenly feels uncomfortable. Did he really leave him alone with a complete stranger? But he comes back soon, with wood for a fire. Relieved, Dean finally accepts to look at Alba. Ah, that he knows well, when she mimes undressing. But he’s cold, and not sure he wants this girl to see him naked.

“Dude, take off your shirt,” Sam sighs while taking care of the fire. “She wants to check on your wounds.” His brother approaches, and despite Dean’s disagreement he helps him take off his cape and shirt.

The clothes are stuck in the wounds, badly cleaned by their mysterious attackers. And, yes, they ripped the arrows off of the wounds like jackals, Dean remembers it very well. But at least it’s not sprouting infections everywhere. Dean has had worse.

“Aouch. That reminds me of… Do you remember when I’ve been c-cut in half b-by a wolf?” he tries to joke, but he coughs again.

“Yes, I remember,” Sam absentmindedly replies. “It was horrifying. Cas patched you up, right?”

“Yeah…”

Dean winces when Alba starts cleaning _properly_ the wounds. First with water, then she starts rummaging through her bag with frenzy. She gives up with a sigh, looks at Sam for a while. Dean closes his eyes, exhausted. Oh, he wishes they’d killed him right on the spot. The pain is excruciating, and even if he had worse, he’s not sure all this agitation is useful. First the witches, then the wolves, and now the humans. This place wants them dead so bad.

When he opens his eyes again, Dean sees with disappointment that Sam is gone again. He’s alone with the girl. She comes closer, looks at him with intensity, and maybe she can tell he’s cold as fuck because she picks up his cape and puts it in his shoulders. The fabric is rough and itchy, but he already feels the difference. Alba stops in her movement when she spots the poorly made bandage on his arm to protect the werewolf’s scratch from infection, and she treats it too with gentleness, making a few comments for herself. So close, Dean can see every detail in her face. She looks like a kid, maybe she is. Or maybe he’s getting old. Old and tired. With a sigh, Dean pushes Alba on the side and gets up. He doesn’t know why he did that. Why did he do that? He makes two steps before feeling an intense pain on his chest and falling hard on the ground with a grunt. He hears her scream behind him, but he’s already loosing consciousness.

But just before everything goes to pitch black, Dean hears something he’ll swear he knows. And he sees a bright light.

 

Sam bends his knees to look closely at the herbs in front of him. They look like the one Alba gave him, but Sam needs to be sure. It’s too easy to make a mistake and die. So he intensely tries to remember what he read on books about plants, what he knows from experience. The form of the leaves, the color of the petals, he compares everything before eventually carefully cutting the stems and placing the plants in the bag. He doesn’t know what they’re used for, so he’ll probably look at what Alba’s doing with it. It’s never too late to learn.

Talking about learning, it’s beginning to be annoying, being unable to understand. This is a liability he can’t deny. Sam knows Latin, it’s going to be useful in some places… in others he’ll have to do it the hard way: learning the language. Maybe Alba can help them do that. She seems to be resourceful, so he’s not afraid of her suddenly _dying_ just because she met them at a random time. And if not her language maybe some sort of sign language? He has nos idea how all this works. He should have been more careful when picking and learning historical periods. With Dean hurt, no way of going home, no way of communicating, Sam is going to become crazy before the end of the week. And if it’s not angels he’s summoning, it’s going to get way dirtier. But nothing is going to stop him if he has to save Dean and get their asses back home.

A scream echoes through the woods, and Sam drops the plant he was holding to rush to Alba and Dean. It takes him more time than he guessed to reach the cavern, afraid to find again a troop of armed soldiers ready to avenge their comrades. But what he finds is totally different. Sam stops, heaving, hallucinating at the scene in front of him.

 

Alba screams when Dean tries his best to gets up and ends up eating dirt. He can’t do that! He’s _dying_! She can’t let him die like that! Alba realizes she doesn’t have time to wait for Sam to bring up the plants. With a panicked frenzy, she reaches for her bag, grabs her stones and candles and powders. Getting the cape out of the way, she starts chanting without waiting to light the candles, and the places the stones on the already unconscious Dean to concentrate her energies on the wounds. She doesn’t forget to pray for good energies to help her just like her mentor told her to, she doesn’t want to do more bad than good. Then she starts chanting again, this time a powerful spell to clean and close the wounds. She’s not sure it will be enough, but at least it will permit Dean to survive. She stops her incantation and looks at her job, though the wounds are still here, they’re considerably better. She wipes her hands on her apron once again and raises her eyes… only to meet Sam’s. Oh. He has his guns in hands, again, and that answers her question: they’re not witches.

Suddenly, Alba is _very_ afraid for her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted Alba to have her own narration, since she's going to be important =)  
> See you tomorrow!


	8. In the House of God

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is Dean saved? Or will the brothers run into trouble again?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wednesday is a tough day for me. But here it is: my eighth chapter.   
> Again, don't mind my broken english, hihihi  
> Enjoy!

Carefully not slipping as they cross the river, Dean tries is best not to pull too much on his wounds. He’s miraculously healed, even if that’s not the angel kind of healing since he’s still hurt, but he’s no _dying_ anymore, and that’s priceless.

They left the cave as soon as Dean woke up, in the morning, and Alba had already disappeared. Sam didn’t want to talk about it. He still doesn’t, even after three hours of walking. They left the forests, thank Chuck, and they’re going through prairies, all the trees have been cut down to leave place for crops. Still, Dean is ill-at-ease at the idea of being left unaware of most of the situation. What was Alba? How did she help him? Sam simply said she ‘healed’ him and left. But… how can a human heal someone that good? Did she use magic? What kind of witchery? Is there people using good magic to save people? What can’t that happen in their own time? Dammit, he should have known something like that would happen.

The sun is bright and high, again, but in the air whistles a cold wind between the trees, and they will have to find shelter soon. Dean never thought he’d have to live like that. Like a medieval hobo walking in the wild and waiting for people to fall on them.

And he took the internet for granted. Dammit.

“Oh great,” Sam happily remarks. “Look at that. You know what it is, right?”

“I don’t know. A church?” Dean asks, squinting to see the building. “a weird castle?”

“No, that’s a monastery,” Sam sighs. “You know what? I want to to go in there.”

Dean stops walking.

“You want to go to the mon… Of course you want to go to a fucking monastery, because after everything that happened you’re still certain everything will be fine! The guys that wanted to kill us were christian, right? What do you think will happen here?”

“They speak _latin_ , Dean!”

“Yeah, so??”

“I SPEAK LATIN, DEAN!”

Dean opens his mouth… and closes it. Oh, right. That makes sense. If there’s any place where Sam can communicate, it’s among literate men, and literate men are found insides monasteries and churches. As for Dean, well he should have been more careful on his studies of ancient texts, but he has a few notions in Latin, maybe this time he won’t have to miss everything. Still, he prefers to be certain.

“You sure they won’t try to kill us?”

“They are scholars and monks, not the Spanish Inquisition. If they try to kill us, we can deal with it.”

“Alright, alright.” Dean gives up. If Sam wants to go in there, they’ll go in there.

Besides, maybe it’s a good place to rest and heal. And Dean’s not against something _real_ to eat. He wants a burger, and fries, and _pie_ , but we can’t have everything we want, so Dean is gladly setting for anything edible. Wow, he’s really kicking on his standards.

They walk for twenty more minutes before reaching the doors of the monastery. The place is quiet, almost peaceful if Dean was inclined to give a chance to religious institutions. Which he isn’t. He knocks on the large door nonetheless, using the heavy metal knock. They wait a moment in front of the gates before and a bald man of a small stature open, old and almost bent in two. He asks a question in that incomprehensible tongue, suspicious, but his eyes widen in surprise when Sam talks to him in Latin. Whoa, his brother really took the all “ancient scrolls” very seriously, he actually can hold a conversation in Latin. Dean catches a few words, like “House of God” and things like that, but Sam’s social skills seem to do all the work as the monk opens the door wide for them. Dean thanks the man with a smile, and they enter in the inner garden.

The place is colorful, filled with late-blooming flowers of all sorts, and plants and herbs of various uses. The paths are well-kept, clean of weeds and dead leaves. A well stands in the center of the garden, buckets stacked near it. On a bench is seated a man who carefully crafts a basket, still in silence, barely bothered by the arrival of two strangers. This is cleaner than a hell lot of places Dean visited before. Humble, simple, but clean and pretty. Alright, maybe they can stay here, for now.

“So, What he said?”

“He said that we were welcome here, and they have a doctor if we’re injured. I told him we were, so for now we follow him and we’ll see. See? That wasn’t so bad.”

“Yeah right. Wait ‘til they ask us to get up at five in the morning to go pray.”

Dean snickers at his own joke as he follows the monk. They’re received in a small infirmary with a few beds lined up against the wall. Another monk approaches them and exchanges a few words with the first one before smiling at them and asking them to show him their wounds. Dean hates this, but he complies and lets himself be treated, this time without weird light and chanting. And without the miraculous doctor disappearing suddenly when he wakes up. After they’ve been taken care of by the doctor, They’re invited to stay for the rest of the day. That doesn’t fall into deaf ear, Sam immediately starts sneaking in every room that’s noteworthy.

“Dean, that’s great! They have books of all kinds! Maybe we can learn more about this time, and _maybe_ we can find a lead on how to go home!”

“… In a _monastery_.”

“That doesn’t hurt to try,” Sam shrugs. And he disappears into the library.

Dean sighs. He’s not going to spend his day inside. So he goes right into the garden again, when he can taste fresh air instead of old paper. A man is taking care of the garden, and Dean feels himself in a helpful mood, so he goes to him and offers his help with a few words and a lot of gestures. The monk laughs, but accepts his help, and Dean occupies his day with something useful instead of waiting. To his surprise, he feels much better despite his wounds, and invigorated with renewed strength. Too bad Alba is gone, because he has to thank her _a lot_. Unless she did something to him, and he’s going to transform into a monster at the end of the day, or suddenly fall asleep and never wake up. You never know with medieval witches.

But the end of the day goes smoothly, they’re even invited to eat with the monastery. Dean finds Sam deep in a conversation with a scholar when he enters the building, and he sighs again.

“What the hell, Sam?”

“What? We’re talking, that’s all! He’s surprised we know how to write and read, because, and I quote, “a lot of barbarians doesn’t care about that”. So we’re barbarians. Happy to know that?”

“Well… Americans are considered barbarians in the 21st century too, nothing’s changed,” Dean shrugs, not at all bothered by the term used. “Anyway, I’m gonna eat, and I’m gonna sleep, and then I’m gonna think about a way to get us out of here before you think about cutting your shiny hair and joining the orders.”

Sam huffs and elbows him.

 

They stay for two days. Dean is not against the moment of peace, he’s too old for the _sleep outside and live in the wild_ kind of adventure. Here, their wounds are healing, their spirit is a little higher and Sam spends his time in the library, learning and sharing, _writing_. Dean doesn’t really care about that. He’s happier in the garden, and he found a place to train with his knife and, why not, with a bow. It’s never too late to learn how to properly use a bow, and the monks don’t seem against the trouble he causes. They’re way less fanatic than he thought, he has to admit. Dean expected a group of silent, creepy and bossy monks, and instead they’re smiling, happy and open-minded. Maybe it’s one of the few monasteries like that?

Maybe it’s their way home, and Sam is right. Maybe _here_ is the place they will find a way.

 

Dean is suddenly awoken by whispers in the middle of the night, and a strange coldness settles in the room he and his brother are squatting. Dean raises on his elbows to look around, and he sees with surprise that Sam is not here. What’s he doing? Did he really forget they’re going to be up at five in the morning, _again_? Getting up, Dean grabs his silver knife. He discreetly opens the door and looks right and left, just in time to see a shadowy figure disappear in a corner of the corridor. With a frown and against better judgment, the hunter unsheathes his weapon and follows in silence. One turn, another, another, Dean crosses through the garden, the mess hall, and eventually he ends up in the chapel… alone. But the room is cold, too, his breath creates a little cloud in front of him mouth, and only the ragged breath behind him permits him to avoid the deadly attack. Without thinking, Dean lets go of his knife to go for a large candle holder in iron, and he stabs the creature with it. It disappears with a screech, and Dean sighs. So it’s a ghost. Of all the monasteries, they had to end up in the one haunted.

Sam arrives almost running in the chapel, and he rushes to him.

“Dude,” he whispers, “I’ve be looking for you, what are you doing here?”

“What you think I’m doing here?” Dean replies with irritation. But he’s totally ignored.

“Check this out,” Sam says, not caring about the question, “You’ll never guess. According to the records…”

“The place is haunted,” Dean guesses.

Sam stays silent for a good minute long, then looks at the candle holder in iron.

Dean shrugs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They'll never have a break.   
> They're the Winchesters  
> See you tomorrow


	9. Haunted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for another case, one that will lead to something bigger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, before anyone asks:  
> I have no idea what I'm doing. I'm not a professional on ancient lore, or medieval history. I'm using little knowledge I have about it, I read a few book on the Dark Age period, but that's about it. The rest is pure fiction, and I apologize for every history buff that could have clicked on my fanfiction.  
> I'm following the idea that, after more than ten years of reading papers in Latin, and with a few elements on the episodes, Sam is actually almost "fluent" in Latin. Again, it's a head-canon, so it's probably pure fiction in the fiction.  
> Wow this note is longer than expected!   
> Enjoy

It’s still the middle of the night when Dean decides to chase the ghost, wherever it is. Sam doesn’t seem to agree with the idea, even if he follows him in the corridors.

“That’s suicidal.”

“That’s not, we have iron tools, we can strike back.”

Sam sighs, shaking his head. But Dean doesn’t see the problem. All they need is salt and something to burn the body when they find it, and kapoosh all their problems are gone, and maybe the monastery will thank them and that’s it. Or maybe they won’t. But… that will be it nonetheless. No more ghost in the hallways. The brothers hide when they hear a sound, and stay hidden as one of the monks rushes past him without seeing them. Maybe he heard the noise. Sam and Dean exchange a glance, nod, and go back to their rooms. No use getting angry with the hosts because of a stupid curfew. Still, Dean can’t wrap his head around the idea. How can a _monastery_ be haunted? The last haunted church they were in was because they had kept a haunted painting of a desperate girl. But _here_? What went wrong?

“Hey, Sam?”

“mh?” Sam is deep in a book, using his flashlight to see in the darkened room, looking for information.

“Did they bury the dead monks here?”

“Why not? It’s consecrated, after all. But maybe some did and other didn’t. Why? You think it’s the ghost of one of them?”

Dean sighs. Yeah, that doesn’t make any sense. If the guy is a ghost, that means unfinished business. But those guys, they live in peace, right? Like a sort of brotherhood where they all accepted to get cut from the world? In the two days he was here, Dean didn’t see any dissent between them. Unless someone is hiding secrets really good, and there’s been a murder here?

“Alright, man, help me out, here. If someone was murdered here. What would happen?”

“They’re not an independent place. I guess the Church would be informed of what happened and send someone? Normally I look that up on the Internet. I’m not omniscient, Dean.”

“What a betrayal. I thought you were the ultimate nerd.”

It’s Sam’s turn to sigh. But he’s right, Dean thinks. It’s too small to keep secrets here. Or everyone is implied, and that would be worse. If the records have kept tracks on it, then it’s haunted for a while, but no one actually tried to do something? that’s weird. They’ll have to ask questions in the morning.

 

Once the sun is high, Sam discreetly goes right to the infirmary, at this hour empty except for the doctor, Brother Ugo. The man smiles to him when he sees him, and puts his quill on the table.

“Ah, good morning.”

“Good morning, sir,” Sam shyly says, always unsure of the way Latin is spoken.

“What can I do for you? Is this your injuries?”

“Uh, no, actually I had a few questions, and I figured you could help me.”

This time he has the monk’s entire attention, and Sam is amazed how friendly those men can be. So he clears his throat and looks for a way to make himself both understandable and not suspicious.

“I heard some strange noise, last night. I was wondering what that was. Is there… something happening here at night?”

Ugo raises his eyebrows in surprise, and shakes his head.

“No, the curfew is always respected. The only one who’s not concerned is the door keeper. He has a small room near the entrance, but he stays there at night.”

“I see. Did… Did you notice anything strange, around? I don’t know, weird sounds, cold spots, strange odors?”

“… Are you alright?”

Sam sighs.

 

 

Once the sun is high, Dean takes his leave of the monks and starts sneaking around, this time looking for dirty closets and buried bodies. There’s something wrong in this monastery. Everything is clean, everyone is nice and respectful. So why is there a goddamned ghost here? With a smile, Dean greets two monks passing by with baskets, and he follows the walls to get access to the more private parts of the monastery. It’s empty of people, the place is relatively small compared to the rest of the buildings, but Dean is sure he’ll find something in there. So he grabs his flashlight, makes sure no one follows him, and enters the last of the places he has to search.

The dust is so thick, Dean can’t repress a cough, and the stairs lead to the belly of the earth. This isn’t ominous at all. Following his courage, Dean goes down the stairs, prepared for another attack. He didn’t think about salt, but he does have an iron shovel, which is good enough to defend himself. He arrives in a large underground room, and he smiles. That’s probably there, the thing the ghost is attached to. There’s a ton of wooden and metallic boxes, and some even locked by a large padlock requiring a key. But Dean doesn’t care about the keys. He opens them by force, looking for any remains hidden from view.

After half an hour of intense rummaging, Dean has to give up. There’s nothing but old parchments and knick-knacks. What the hell?

The air suddenly becomes colder around him, and Dean heavily sighs before getting a hand on his shovel. The ghost once again appears, and this time it doesn’t immediately attacks, it simply points Dean with a long, pale finger. Dean looks at it a little better. Though its face is melted beyond recognition, its robes are plain but clean, held by a simple rope. On its hand is a wooden ring, but Dean can’t see much more, for the ghost seems to get more and more angry at the time passes. And then it attacks. Dean waits for it with his shovel, makes it disappear with a mighty blow. He then carefully cleans the place, and gets out. No one noticed his disappearance, it seems. But once again he’s got no lead. With a pout, Dean goes back to his brother, maybe he found something.

 

Sam makes a beautiful smile to the grumpy old man named “door keeper” for the monastery. He doesn’t seem happy to help, but at least he put his bucket down when Sam approached him. Maybe they can talk?

“Good morning, brother,” Sam simply says, still smiling. The man answers with a bow of his head. “I was... hoping you could give me a minute? I have a few questions.”

“No need, stranger. I know why you’re here.”

“What?”

“Look,” the monk says with a heaving. “weird people, I’ve seen a lot. I’m a pious man for a while, now, and I’ve seen all kind of pagan barbarians coming and going. But you, you probably are the strangest. You come from nowhere, speak Latin but with a weird and stammering accent, and you and your brother are always sneaking around. Now I know bad people when I see one, and you’re not bad. But be warned: this placed is protected by God, and the heretics aren’t welcome.”

Alright. It’s a lot for Sam to understand in a single pace, but he understood well enough to know the man has his eyes on them. And if he doesn’t believe in ghosts, he surely thinks something protects the place. Right? With an awkward smile, Sam nods.

“Understood. We won’t cause you any trouble.”

and he goes to find his brother, more ill-at-ease than ever.

 

Dean spots Sam in the garden, and goes to see him right away. He hasn’t let go of his shovel.

“Dude, second attack, still on me. What the hell? And I found nothing around, no corpse, no cemetery, no bodies under the carpet but check this out: the ghost has a wooden ring with something on it, like a… a cross or something like it. That’s something, right? What about you?”

“Well, no one here has ever suffered a ghost attack, even if cold spots have been spotted, or object changing places, sometimes whispers. And it’s punctual! So… I don’t know what’s going on. The door keeper seems to think there’s a, uh, _guardian_ here. The place is protected by God, according to him. Maybe we’re dealing with this?”

“So,” Dean thinks aloud, “if we leave, it would stop its attacks? Like, we angered it?”

“Maybe,” Sam agrees. “So what do we do? Gather our stuff and leave the place?”

“Nah. I want to know what this is about. And maybe torch a ghost.”

“With what salt? And what fire?”

Dean stays silent for a moment. He decides not to answer, and he goes for the chapel. Sam follows him.

“No, dude seriously. What if there’s no body?”

“Then that’s something with blood on it, or something like that.”

Sam stops. Then thinks. And Dean loses patience.

“Sam!”

“Relics, Dean! What if they have the bones of a saint or something like that?”

Oh, that’s brilliant. They share a nod, then push the doors of the chapel. They enter the sacred place in silence, and Sam immediately makes his way towards the brother praying. The man welcomes him with a warm smile, and Sam politely greets him with a bow of his head.

“Excuse me to bother you, but I had a few questions,” he repeats, his old litany now easier to say in another language. “I wondered, is it possible that a Saint is buried somewhere around? One with a wooden ring?”

“How…?” The man eyes him suspiciously, but he eventually nods. “There’s not saint buried around, but as you know we, of the christian church, honor our Saint. We are honored to keep one of the phalanxes of Saint Contentius himself, along with his ring. I’m sorry but I can’t tell you where it is.”

“Oh! I didn’t… I never…,” Sam is at a loss for words. “I never expected you to tell me, it’s already an honor to share such… knowledge. Thank you.”

The monk bows with a smile, and goes to his duty. Sam looks at him go for a moment before turning towards his brother.

“There’s a _Saint’s body part_ here?” Dean asks. “Tell me I didn’t understand it well.”

“His phalanx,” Sam says. “But he doesn’t want to tell us where it is, and that’s understandable. That’s a _relic_ , Dean. We don’t torch relics.” He sighs. “We have to find another way, or to leave the place. What do you think?”

“I think they’re crazy. There’s a _ghost_ here Sam. We can’t let it go on its merry way, because one day it’s going to kill somebody!”

And just as he says these words, he’s thrown across the chapel with a shout. The monk raises his head from the candles, and screams in fear. Sam rushes to his brother.

“Dean! Are you okay?!”

“I’m fine! Just… find that goddamned phalanx!” And he gets on his feet with a curse and arms himself with a candlestick.

Sam obeys without complaining, and he goes to the monk in a hurry.

“Where is it? The relic?!”

“What?”

“It’s the ghost of the Saint! You have to trust me!”

But just as the monk is about to reply, a great light fills the room, so bright it blinds everyone for a moment. Dean blinks and groans, but he gasps when he sees the ghost suddenly burning alone with a shriek.

And in front of him, a young man in simple yet white, rich clothes, his black hair contrasting with his pale features. And on his face is shining two blue eyes like jewels. He doesn’t need to look behind the newcomer appeared from thin air to see the shadow of the large, majestic wings.

And deep inside, Dean knows who he is.

“Castiel…” he whispers in awe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaand HERE HE IS! The one you were expecting, thanks to my spoiling tags!   
> It's of course not Jimmy, and there won't be any porn.   
> thank you for following this work!   
> See you tomorrow!


	10. Take Me to Church

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel has arrived, with all his might, on the little planet Earth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one is messy beyond measure. I'm so sorry.  
> But here it is anyway so...  
> Enjoy!

Dean gapes at the apparition before him, still processing what just happened. The man in front of him, whom he knows is Castiel, doesn’t look like Castiel. Even if there’s some similarities, he’s younger than Jimmy, and doesn’t have his raggedy look. Maybe he’s nobility. But all of that doesn’t matter. What matters is that he came. He’s here, in front of him, with all his coldness and lack of expression.

Castiel.

Dean gets up and dusts his clothes, happy to see his friend.

“What took you so long, Cas? I thought you’d never find us!”

“And who may you be, stranger? I sense an anomaly around you. You do not belong here.”

“… You speak my language.”

“I speak every word spoken by humans. I am…”

“An angel of the lord,” Dean interrupts him with a sigh. “Listen, Cas, we need help.”

Castiel simply lifts an eyebrow, but doesn’t say a thing. When Dean turns towards his brother, he notices his bewilderment. So that’s not him who called the angel. Well, that’s not Dean either. The monk is pressed against the altar, whispering prayers with his cross held in front of him. But Castiel doesn’t even cast a glance towards him, focused as he is on the Winchesters. He squints, a typical move from Cas when he detects bullshit, and slowly moves towards them.

“Why are you here?” Sam asks, as composed as he can be. “No one called you. I thought the angels weren’t coming on earth anymore.”

“That is none of your concern, mortal,” Castiel says with disdain. But he stops, squints again. “Or maybe it is. I’m looking for a temporal disrupt–”

the doors of the chapel open again, this time violently as brother Ugo enters the room. He looks distressed, walking slowly, his hand pressed against his side, and the monk near the altar screams again when he sees the blood flowing through his fingers.

“ _The Door Keeper_ ,” he says in Latin before falling on the floor of the chapel. Dean runs to him to see if he’s alive.

“He is dead,” Castiel states.

“Thanks Captain Obvious,” Dean retorts. When he gets no reaction, he feels compelled to explain, “Of course he’s dead. We have to check on the Door Keeper.”

“The Door Keeper is none of my concern. Who are you? What have you done?”

Sam and Dean ignore the angel, almost reluctantly, and run outside, ready to find the door keeper. They first check on the room near the entrance, but it’s empty. In the garden too, he’s nowhere to be found.

“What do you think?” Dean asks Sam.

“I don’t know… That can’t be another angel, right? I mean… Cas is enough, and he didn’t kill anyone. He expelled the ghost… So… A demon maybe?”

“That would be just _great_! A ghost chasing heretics, an amnesiac angel, and now a curious demon? And just when I thought we had a great week-end!”

“Come on, Dean, he’s not amnesiac! He just never met us! We’re in the past!”

“And that gives him the right to behave like an asshole?”

“Relax! If it’s a demon then we just have to guide the demon to the angel, and let Cas deal with the problem, right?”

“Oh, I hope you’re right.”

They go right to their room where they left the guns… and find the door keeper rummaging through their bag. Dean curses.

“Oh, hi kids! I was looking for you! You’re difficult to find!”

“Who the fuck are you?” Dean snaps at him.

“Who am I? Well I’m the door keeper! But what about you? That strange language, those… weird things! Not to talk about the shockwave made a few days earlier! So, that’s you, right? And the angel… no angel has been on earth for so long, even I’ve never seen one. Did you do that?”

The brothers exchange a glance, and immediately go for their guns. Sam starts chanting the exorcism to buy time for his brother.

“ _Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus_...”

The demon snarls at them, his eyes suddenly black, and with a gesture he makes the brothers fly. Dean hits the wall with a loud noise, but not before having grabbed his gun, filled with witch-killing bullets. It won’t be effective against a demon -and that’s a demon for sure- but it can buy them enough time for the angel to do his job.

Because he _will_ do his job, right?

“Oh, you little fuckers… What was that?!”

“An exorcism, you bitch!” and Dean to shoot in the door keeper’s kneecaps.

The demon shouts with surprise more than pain, and immediately lets go of the brothers. Sam resumes his exorcism while Dean attacks the demon.

“Cas?! A little help??”

But the angel doesn’t seem to answer his prayers, they’re alone with their weapons.

“What do you think you can do against me?!” the demon shouts at them, angrier by the minute. “You’ll never win against us!”

The threat is useless, and maybe the demon is slowly losing is confidence, because he’s more and more frantic. Eventually he gives into complete violence, and he flees the room.

“We have to trap it,” Sam mutters, massing his shoulders where he hit the wall.

“And how are we supposed to do that? We have no salt, nothing to write a devil’s trap with!… charcoal, maybe?” He quickly gathers all their stuff and straps the bag on his back.

“Like we have time to find a piece of charcoal to set a trap. Come on, let’s find him.”

 

The demon rages in the chapel, looking at his knee with apparent disgust. What was that? Some kind of magic weapon? He didn’t feel any magic, he still doesn’t. Those guys… There’s something about them. He raises his head when he hears the distinct sound of the angel’s wings.

“So here he is. The angel. I can’t believe it. Are you here because of the strangers?”

Castiel stays silent, judging the power in front of him. The demon is of Low rank. A simple minion.

“Are you sent by Hell? Or did you come on your own?”

“Why do you care?”

“I need to know who cares about those mortals. Are you the one who brought them here?”

The demon simply laughs. So Castiel reaches for his head and smites him with a flicker of his power. The demon screams, his vessel imploding with a bright light. When Castiel turns on his heels, swiping his hands on his white shirt, his eyes meet those very green of the stranger. Dean.

“He’s dead,” he states again, as if it was needed. “I wanted to know what you were capable of. I have to say I am disappointed. Though you dispose of good ideas, I was hoping you could be competent to destroy this demon.”

“What you thought we were, psychics? What the fuck, Cas?” Dean loses his cool, and he walks towards him with quick paces. Who does he think he is? “You should have helped us! Why are you here??”

“Don’t you dare speak to me this way! I am an Angel of the Lord, my power is beyond the imagination of your mortal mind!”

“I KNOW!”

Castiel stays silent. He speaks the truth. He _knows_. How? Maybe he’s right, they know each other. So Castiel decides to spare this strange human.

Other monks barge in the room, and they speak fast and all together, but Castiel merely focuses on their feelings to understand the situation. They’re afraid. They talk about demons, they want a culprit, and the two brothers and himself are the right target. They have to leave. Quickly, Castiel closes the distance between him and the Winchesters, and he flies away in a blink.

 

They’re alone on a hill, a chilling wind blows the place in the darkness of the evening. It could have been quite poetic if Dean wasn’t swearing aloud.

“Fuck you!” he shouts at Castiel, sickened by the sudden teleportation.

“I just saved you!” Castiel retorts with pride.

“We know,” Sam tries to concede. “And we’re grateful, we really are. Thank you, Castiel. We, uh, we’re going to leave the place, now, if that’s okay?” He smiles hopefully.

But Castiel doesn’t want to let them go. He wants to understand. What is happening with those two? He nods at the request, but decides to put his own rules in the game.

“I will accompany you for the time being. If it appears you are dangerous, I will end you. Are we clear?”

“Crystal clear,” Dean mumbles, a frown constantly settled on his face.

Sam sighs in relief. “I have a last request. We know the angels have some… capacities. Can you help us understand the local dialects? So we’re not so lost anymore?”

Help them understand? Castiel hesitates. That, he can do. He’s once again interrupted by Dean.

“What? No, he can do better than that! Castiel, you have to send us back to our time. We know the angels can do that! So, come on, just… do your magic!”

“No. I can’t. I don’t have any right to play with the space-time continuum.”

The word is spoken. He won’t change his mind. Dean’s face loses his colors, and he falls silent. Seeing him like that, _that_ desperate, it breaks something in Castiel’s grace. Why? He doesn’t understand. Instead he focuses on his tasks, that he can do. He puts his fingers against Sam’s temples, and makes him learn the local dialects in seconds. It is painful. But more than that, Castiel discovers this man is _warded_ against angel, with Enochian words directly carved in his ribcage. And that’s _his_ _handwriting_.

“… Who are you?” he asks, squinting at Sam. “You… Your souls are hurt beyond repair, your bodies are warded against angels and that’s… It’s my work. I don’t understand.”

“Yeah, well,” Dean says with a shrug, “there’s a lot of things you won’t understand. But since you can’t help us, we can’t help you.”

Sam’s death-glare doesn’t change Dean’s behavior. But for today, Castiel doesn’t mind. He will follow the Winchesters until he understand their mystery. They pick a random direction and start walking, putting the monastery as far away as they can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our trio is back together!   
> Well... Castiel can't be the season 13 Castiel, of course. But we still have some chapters left to change that, don't we?  
> See you tomorrow!


	11. Guess who?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean has to deal with the old Castiel, Sam makes friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

Dean stays silent for most of the travel through the lands. So far they managed to not being attacked, or simply arrested. They didn’t meet any soldier, any castle, nothing. Just some boring countryside, and an awkward angel.

Even if Castiel has accepted to follow them, it’s clearly visible he’s not at ease on the physical plan. Who he stole the vessel from, Dean has no idea, but since he looks better than most of the guys he met, that’s either nobility or otherwordly. He walks without a stop, not experiencing human tiredness, but at the same time he looks like a penguin out of his icefield. Even back there, angels have sticks in their asses. And that’s weird to see. Because Castiel was getting better at being human. _His_ Cas could easily pose as human. He laughs, he frowns, he gets confused, sad, watches tv… This Castiel barely shows emotions other than disdain. He’s not _his_ Castiel, and Dean realizes he’ll have to wait a thousand years more, maybe even more, so Cas can finally be where he belongs. On Earth, with the Winchesters.

“Hey, Castiel, I was wondering…”

“Ask your question.”

“Are you… happy, up there?”

Sam gasps and looks daggers at Dean, but Dean’s focused on Castiel.

“I… don’t know what you mean,” Castiel replies, a confused frown on his face. “Happiness is but a concept invented by humans. We, Angels of the Lord, don’t need concepts, for we follow our duty as Angels of the Lord. It is our role that matters. I serve Heaven. I serve God.”

Ah, the famous ‘I answer cryptically’ guilty pleasure of those feathered assholes. Dean opens his mouth to ask more questions, in hope that he can wake something in Castiel, but Sam violently elbows him. With an _ouch_ he stops walking and bends himself in two, out of breath.

“Dude, what the hell?!”

“Don’t ‘what the hell’ me, I know exactly what you’re… Castiel can we have a moment?” Once the angel is far enough, still eying them suspiciously, Sam resumes. “I know what you’re trying to do, and I’m telling you that going nowhere! You can’t _Cas him out_ , that won’t work!”

“Why not? Cas is Cas after all! And maybe if he’s going aboard the _free will_ train now, he’ll help us get back home!”

“That’s stupid. The stupidest plan I’ve heard in a long time. Face it, Dean, that’s not your Cas. That’s mid-sixth century or whenever Castiel, and he’s not going to help us. He’s here to investigate for _Heaven_!”

Dean grumbles, massing his ribcage, and he starts walking again without looking at his brother, not even at Castiel. The angel comes back from his observation of the surrounding flora.

“Did you share what you had to?” he asks Dean. But he gets no answer. He stares to the back of his head. “You’re angry. Betrayed. Why are you feeling like this, Dean Winchester?”

“Because _I_ can, now leave me alone.”

Sam sighs while he looks at them, a little further behind. Those two. But he can understand Dean’s frustration. He himself was thinking Castiel was their hope of getting home. They’ll have to find another way, then. That, and lay under the angels’ radar.

They walk all night, and in the morning they arrive in a small village surrounded by plains and fields. The forest is far from the houses and in the distance, in the dawn’s light, a large castle can been seen on the top of a hill. Castiel points at the castle with a brow lifted.

“Are you sure you want to stay that close to local power? You have to know, they have deep faith in our Father, and the situation in the monastery will soon be known in the entire area.”

Sam shakes his head, closing distance with the village without faltering his pace.

“We’ll stay hidden. For now we have to change clothes, find food, and…” he stops, looks at the village in surprise. “Uh, I… Dean, can you find clothes for us? I’ll go get food.” and he turns on his heels and goes away from Castiel and Dean with quick strides.

Dean raises an eyebrow. “What’s wrong with him?”

“I can search in his mind for all kind of foul play,” Castiel states as he stares at Sam.

Dean gasps and shakes his head. No way. No going to happen.

“Nuh-huh, don’t even think about it. Let’s go find something that suits us. Sam’s a little difficult to dress, around here.” And he makes his way to the village too.

By the time they arrive, the village is already filling with activities, a dozen of little houses selling and fixing and creating. The blacksmith is already at work, every hit against the anvil echoing in the air, and people are chatting around the place with vehemency. Dean wanders through all this, his hood pulled on his head.

“Say, Castiel?”

“Yes?”

“What do you know, about all this?” He gestures at their surroundings.

“Only what my vessel acknowledges of his world. As for the rest, I do not care.”

“Who’s life did you steal, anyway? The kid seems wealthy.”

Castiel stays silent for a moment, looking around with disinterest. He stops near the well, looks inside before sighing.

“His name is Euric. He’s a noble from the West of the Frankish Realm. His education has been very religious. I did not steal his body.”

“He accepted,” Dean says. “I know how angels work. You can’t possess a body if its host doesn’t say _yes_. So, this kid starts hearing voices, and all of a sudden he accepts to be taken from his life?”

“He knew the risks. Like I said, very religious.” he doesn’t say more. He bows when a young girl looks at him and giggles, but doesn’t acknowledge her much. He stays focused. “We are supposed to find a place to buy you clothes. Euric is wealthy, as you said. Let me.”

“Oh… thanks?”

Castiel doesn’t answer, he walks to the tailor shop.

 

Sam follows the figure he saw and recognized crossing the fields to the village. He stays hidden until he manages to catch up with the figure’s quick pace. Eventually _she_ stops near a house, looks right and left, opens the door and enters. Sam enters right behind her.

He nearly gets stabbed.

“Stay away, mongrel, or I… Sam?”

“Hi! Alba! Don’t stab, I just want to talk!”

“You…” Alba lowers her dagger. “You speak my language. How is that possible?”

“We met someone. Uh… I didn’t think I’d see you again.”

“You think? You threatened me with your magic weapon, even when I saved your brother.”

Alba heavily sighs, and unstraps her cape while going deeper into the room. Sam looks around. Many shelves filled with little bags and wooden boxes of all sorts, so much variety of plants hanging from the ceiling, the place looks like a RPG shop.

“Are you an alchemist?” he asks Alba, still amazed at what’s around him.

“Sort of. I’m sort of a doctor, bonesetter, potion maker…”

“And a witch.”

“People don’t need to know that,” she absentmindedly retorts while sorting her new plants and roots and rocks. “What do you want? I was hoping to never see you again.”

“I wanted to thank you,” Sam simply says.

She stops, waits, and after a while she turns to look at him.

“Thank you, for having saved my brother,” Sam repeats with an awkward smile. “I… I couldn’t tell you before, but I owe you his life. I panicked when I realized what you were because… That’s complicated but… We, uh, we’re here because of witches. They often want us dead. But you simply gathered your stuff and left and… I just felt bad because I didn’t mean to be ungrateful. I was just afraid for my brother. So, thank you again, Alba.”

She hesitates, but eventually she smiles back at him. “It’s okay. It’s my job to save people. So, what are you thinking of me, now?”

“I think you’re a white witch. I hope you are. But either way, you’re not a bad person.”

“You’re not so bad yourself,” she jokes as she elbows him. “Thanks, I needed to hear that. I spent two days fearing for my life, you know? So? What are you doing here?”

“We followed the wind. It’s sheer luck we’ve run into each other again. You know what? I’m going to get my brother. I didn’t say what happened, so you can tell you if you want.”

“Does he know I’m a witch?” she reluctantly asks.

“He probably guessed it. But it’s okay, he’s not a bad person himself.”

“Okay. Go get him. I’m here all day.”

Sam smiles at her and goes to search for his brother. He finds him to the tailor shop with Castiel. Dean’s eyes brighten when he sees Sam.

“Ah! That’s him! See? I told you he’s _gigantic_ , so stop thinking I’m overreacting!”

The tailor looks at Sam with surprise, but he nods and goes to work. Dean smiles.

“So? Food?”

“I… uh… Forgot. But I found better than that.”

“Better than food? I doubt it, Sammy. Right now I’m craving for pie, so you better find food!”

“Alright, alright. But when I come back, I come with me.”

“Deal.”

Sam grumbles and goes to look for food.

 

 

“I can’t believe this guy,” Dean huffs. “He wants me to die of starvation.”

“Maybe what he has to show you was important,” Castiel says.

“That can wait. Anyway, we have to wait for new shirts and pants. The capes are still fine, I look like a RPG NPC.”

“Excuse me?”

Dean shrugs. No one ever gets his references. But he seriously grew found of his cape. They wait for a while in front of the tailor shop, and eventually Sam comes back with a basket, and in it? Dean can smell pie. He closes the distance between the basket and him, and looks inside. That’s a pie.

“You serious?”

“When am I not? I left the rest of the food where I want you to come. So? Pie?”

Dean pays the tailor, grabs the clothes, and follows Sam. Of course he’ll follow him. Castiel on his heels, they navigate through the streets until they arrive in front of a house. Sam pushes the doors open with a smile, and Dean enters.

The place smells like plants of all sorts, incense and old wood. And we would recognize that anywhere. That’s a witch shop.

“Guess who I ran into?” a feminine voice echoes between the numerous shelves. “Good day to you, Dean Winchester. I’m pleased to see you are well!”

Dean looks at his brother with uncertainty, but since Sam is smiling, he lowers his defense.

“Alba?”

“In the flesh and bones!”

And she bows in front of him in a very serious manner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was long and awkward and full of conversations. Sorry about that, but we're set, and I proudly present to you the new recurring character!  
> See you tomorrow!


	12. White Witch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam, Dean and Castiel make a new friend around a pie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not my best chapter, I have to admit, but it's getting late and I'm late, it has been a rough day.   
> I'll do better next time!  
> Enjoy, anyway!

Dean stares at Alba with disbelief as she slides through her shop with apparent grace. Now that he can understand her, she seems way less threatening than before. That, and maybe the friendly smile Sam is wearing. Castiel is behind him, silent, and he too looks at her with the way one looks at a strange little animal.

“So? Are you going to stay in the entrance way forever? Sam asked me to keep the food, and I offered to keep you for dinner in exchange. That pie, I made it.”

“Oh,” Dean whistles. “We’re friends now.”

Alba laughs a little. “I see.” And she invites all of them to go in the back shop, where she lives.

The room isn’t very large, there’s only enough place for a bed, a fireplace and a desk. A little window is simply but nicely carved for the air to pass without letting the cold enter. It smells like incense and fruits, and Dean feels at peace here.

“That’s nice.”

“Thank you. I always pride myself of being dutifully organized. Who’s your friend?”

Castiel squints at her, and sticks out his chest.

“My name is Castiel, and I’m an Angel of the Lord.”

It throws a cold in the room. Sam clears his throat.

“That’s complicated. But he’s not here to do harm, He’s a nice guy.”

“He has a stick deep in his ass, but he’s a nice guy,” Dean mocks Castiel. The angel looks daggers at him, and Alba nods with uncertainty.

“I… see? An… So, what’s an angel?”

The three men stays silent for a moment, as Sam and Dean search for the right words. Castiel decides to answer for himself.

“We are the Lord’s first children, the protectors of the worlds, the keeper of knowledge. There’s nothing than can escape us, for we are both guardians and executioners, the hand of the Holy Justice, and warriors of the Light. We are protectors of everything that is sacred in this dimension and the others.”

Alba takes a seat near the fireplace. The brothers exchange a worried glance. But eventually Alba finds her voice again, her eyes locked on the three men standing in her room.

“What are you, people?”

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you,” Sam explains. “Since we know you’re a witch, I figured we need your knowledge in magic. See, we’re, uh, from the _future_ ,” he throws a glance towards Dean, but his brother doesn’t seem bothered by him telling her. “In the future, we have been, sort of, attacked by witches, and something went wrong and we’ve been sent here. In the past.”

“Are you mocking me? Because if you are, that’s not funny.”

“We’re not,” Dean steps forwards and hands her his phone. “See for yourself. That device is from the future.”

Alba looks at the phone with awe, starting with surprise when she presses on an app and the screen suddenly changes. She promptly gives it back to Dean. Sam is suddenly reminded of their passage in the Western era, when he convinced Colt of his good faith by showing him his phone. Well, that’s the easiest way, he guesses.

“Do you trust us, now? We’re not witches, we don’t know how we got here. But we’re stuck, and… you seem the best choice we have right now to understand how to get back.”

“What about him?” Alba asks, pointing at Castiel. “If he’s as powerful as he pretends, whatever he is, why can’t he help you?”

“It is not my place to tear holes through dimensions,” Castiel replies. “It is expressly forbidden to do so. I won’t break the rules for two mere humans.”

Sam sighs, while Dean seats on the desk, pushing aside the pouches of herbs.

“So here we are,” Dean shrugs. “Stuck and lost.” He throws a glance at the basket still near Sam. “Can I eat that pie, now?”

“You can,” Alba smiles at him. “Is pie such a big deal, where you come from?”

“For Dean, it is,” Sam laughs.

Dean ignores them and goes right to the basket where he picks up the pie. it’s heavier than he’s used to, and it doesn’t exactly looks like a pie, but since he can eat it it’s worth a shot. He puts it on the desk, takes his knife and cuts large pieces. He offers it to everyone, even Castiel who looks confused, and he takes a bite of his own slice.

The taste is so different Dean doesn’t even know what he’s eating aside the apples. That’s not really pastry, not at all, and Dean’s not sure that’s wheat. The whole thing isn’t covered in oil and butter, instead it’s a mouthfull of honey and something else Dean doesn’t quite recognize. But after a few chews, he eventually has to concede that it’s really good. He smiles at Alba who waits for his opinion, and she sighs with relief.

“Phew! I’m happy it’s edible! I’m not familiar with that kind of cooking, I wanted to try!”

“That’s really good!” Sam says.

Castiel simply opens his mouth and lets the bite fall on the ground. Alba looks at that with bewilderment.

“Uh…” Dean swallows his portion and clears his throat. “Angels don’t like human food. I just wanted to try. Gimme that, you, don’t waste pie.” And he takes the pie back from the disgusted angel.

After having eaten the pie, Alba goes back to the front shop, followed by the three men.

“Alright. Say I help you find a way to go back, which is unlikely, I can’t imagine what kind of magic has been used to reach that point, what’s in it for me?”

“I depends. What do you want?” Sam asks.

“I want to know everything about magic in your… world. You know about witches, you probably knows about witchcraft, right?”

But as Dean is about to answer, a bell rings in the village. Alba sighs and takes her cape.

“That’s the town crier. He has news, and if that’s from our Lord, I better go and listen. Wait here.”

She pulls her hood and leaves the shop. For a moment, Sam and Dean stands awkwardly near the counter, before they eventually sit in a corner.

“That’s surreal. You think she’ll help us?”

“She used an actual spell on you to save you, Dean. She’s not the ‘just potion and herbs’ kind of witch. I’m sure she can help us.”

Castiel suddenly raises his head towards the door and frowns. He looks like he’s listening to something, but Dean doesn’t hear a thing. When he opens his mouth to ask, Castiel turns towards them.

“They’re here for you. They’re looking for you.”

Sam and Dean exchange a confused look. Alba violently opens the door at this moment. She’s heaving, panicking.

“Preachers from the South! They’re looking for you, you have to go!” And she closes the door behind her. “What have you done?”

“We don’t know!” Dean defends himself. “People have been looking for us since the beginning!”

“We haven’t exactly been discreet,” Sam concedes with a shake of his head. “But, we’re going to leave. Sorry, Alba.”

“No, I’m sorry. I wish I could do more.”

At the same time, someone bangs at the door “Open up!” a rough voice says behind. “Open the door, bonesetter!”

Alba looks at the boys, then opens the door a little to answer the man.

“What can I do for you? A decoction? An ointment?”

“We are looking for three men, two of them are accused of murder, the third of witchcraft and murder.”

“And you’re thinking about me because…”

“Because of witchcraft.” And he pushes her on the side to fully open the door.

Alba yelps when she’s pushed aside, and she cringes as the armed man stop to look around. The Winchesters are in the back shop. This brute will find them soon enough.

“There’s no one here, soldier, go bark somewhere else!”

“I don’t believe you,” he snarls, and grabs her by her arm. Once again she yelps. “You will tell me where you hide th–” he doesn’t finish his sentence as he falls on the ground, unconscious.

Sam looks at his work with a frown. That won’t slow him down for long. He helps Alba on her feet.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes, thank you. I can’t believe this, I’m treated like a criminal.”

“Well… some christian people tend to underestimate pagan people. Religion is and will be a touchy subject for humans, right? Come on, let’s go.” He lets her take her stuff, a large bag with various things in it, and they all discreetly leave the house. The streets have been emptied by the violence of the search, almost no one in the village seem to know how to defend themselves against the brutality of the group. So the Winchesters, Alba, and Castiel decide to put as much distance as they can with the village. They leave for the North.

 

While they walk in silence, Alba can’t help but look behind. She just lost her shop. Her business, her way of helping people. She knew for a long time that this religion, Christianity, would be the end of her. Numerous bonesetters had to give up the old ways because it was considered ‘heretical’ by those fancy lords and their roman education. But she has been discreet for so long… the looks back at the Winchesters, and by the look on their face they’re not in a good mood either. As for this… Castiel? If he is what he said, then he’s for the christian, right? Because ‘the Lord’ is their Only God? She doesn’t really understand what all that means. The only thing she knows is, she’s on the road, running from whatever threat is after the Winchesters.

They didn’t ask for this, she thinks. They’re suffering as much as she does. And it is her duty as a white witch to help people in need.

She catches up on Sam’s quick pace.

“I know where we should go. Follow me.”

And she takes the lead of this odd procession.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who is this enemy able to track them down in so little time? What do they want from them?   
> See you tomorrow!


	13. Magic Tricks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel, Alba, Sam and Dean, still running for their lives, find an Inn in which they make a surprising encounter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

They walk for a few days to the North, following Alba’s lead through the cold landscape. Though they’re still running for their lives, the ambiance is much lighter. Maybe they’re becoming used to being chased, Sam wonders. Castiel hasn’t said a word since they left the village, but Dean is commenting for the both of them, still trying to provoke a reaction in the angel. Sam has tuned out everything his brother said in the past three hours, but he understands the effort.

Leaving the dense forests at sunset, they arrive on a well-maintained road near which stands a little inn. Dean gasps and dusts his clothes

“Look, Sammy! That’s an inn! A true inn! Like in Game of Thrones, where Catelyn meets Tyrion by accident! I want to go there. Can we go there?”

“What’s an inn? It’s a _hosting place_. And I’m not sure,” Alba says with a hum. “Is it safe?”

“I don’t detect any kind of threat inside this building,” Castiel simply states. “And if threat there is, I can easily deal with it.”

“Let’s, uh, let’s not alarm the locals,” Sam hastily interrupts Castiel. “We can take a look, and if that’s doesn’t seem safe we can just leave. So?”

They all nods, and cross the road to go into the inn. Dean pushes the door open with wonder in his eyes, he looks like all his problems are suddenly gone for a moment. Sam smiles at the thought. Dean needs that more often. They settle around a table, and Alba offers Sam to help with the orders. So they leave the two others behind.

“Will they be alright?” the witch asks.

“Oh, they will. They can deal with each other for ten minutes. What bothers me is the crowd here. I hope they won’t get into some stupid argument. They’re way too hot-blooded for their own good.”

Alba laughs and leans against the counter to gain the attention of the lad behind. The young boy comes closer and salute them politely.

“Good evening, folks. What can I do for you? Is it to stay the night or to eat?”

“Both?” Alba asks Sam, and when he nods she smiles at the boy. “Both. Four people, only one room please.”

The boy nods and leaves the counter to yell something to the back shop. Sam looks around them to assess the situation.

The room is filled with travelers. Thick capes, walking sticks and weird accents, all these people are from different parts of the country, of the continent maybe, and yet they’re still sharing the same meal and the same conversations. Some are laughing, others are talking more calmly, and there’s a _bard_ in the back of the room, near the fireplace. Everything seems so surreal, he feels out of place. Eventually the lad comes back with a large wood tray with four bowls on it, and another with four beers. Alba smiles and pays for it, and they bring everything back to the table.

“So? Did you kill anyone?”

“Of course not,” Castiel replies with a huff. “You asked us not to alarm the locals.”

“It was a joke, Castiel. Don’t take it personally,” Sam sighs. “Who’s hungry?”

Dean doesn’t answer, instead he immediately takes a tankard, drinks a large sip of it… and chokes on it. Sam laughs.

“What? That’s not to your taste?”

“That’s not the problem!” he lowers his voice as to not draw the attention. “What’s wrong with this beer?”

“Well, you’re used to American beer. That’s… European medieval beer. You can’t even compare them. Other place, other time, man. Cheers?”

“To our survival,” Alba toasts.

They clink the tankards and drink.

 

Settled in the room they rented, the four fugitives prepare for the night. While Dean is deeply focused on shaving with his knife, Sam and Castiel unroll the sheets on the straw mattresses.

“Any news from heaven?”

“What?”

“I figured…” Sam clears his throat. “I’m sorry. It was just a reflex. We’re, uh, aware of the… contact you have with the other angels. And I’m.. I was wondering why no one stopped us. You’re still with us, but I guess they have other plans, up there?”

“I… have no news from my brethren. I am still trying to figure you two out. You are a complex mystery, and you being warded against angels doesn’t make my task easy.”

“You know, you can just ask.”

Dean joins them with a smile, his face freshly shaved and without a cut. “Are you two plotting?”

“What? No!” Sam huffs. “Don’t be stupid!”

“I hear _stupid_ ,” Alba ads while entering the room, in another dress cut a little higher and her hair tied in a large braid. “are you talking about yourselves, boys?”

“Oh, a sarcastic nymph,” Dean mocks her. “Are you that fancy, that you need another dress?”

“I’m a _lady_ , Dean. If I have the possibility to change clothes and be clean, I take it without second thoughts. So? What are you talking about?”

“We were talking about Dean’s stupid ideas,” Sam says with a shrug.

“Talking about stupid ideas, I thought about your problem,” Alba suddenly remembers. “I don’t know the spell to help you, but I think I can contact other witches – white, of course – and some of them should be able to tell me. Once we get the spell, we can work on the ingredient. The rarer the spell, the more difficult to find the ingredients. I hope you’re not in a hurry.

“Like we have a choice,” Dean replies sourly. “Too bad there’s no _angel_ to help us, right?”

“I told you, we have _rules_. And I won’t break them for you, Dean Winchester.”

“Tell me that in several centuries.”

“What?”

“STOP!” Sam yells. “Guys, seriously!”

Silence settles in the room, as Dean unrolls his own blanket for the night with a pout. Alba sighs and lays on her bed.

“We’ll find a way to bring you home, don’t worry. For the moment, let’s enjoy a night inside, on a mattress with a belly full.” And saying that, she rolls on her sheets with a relieved puff. “Good night!”

Sam and Dean look at her for a moment, then exchange a glance. That must be a medieval thing to go to bed that early. That, or the travel really took most of her energy. So they also give up and roll on their own bed. Castiel stays still a few more minutes before spotting a stool and sitting on it, his back straight as he looks by the window.

 

In the night they’re awaken by the sudden gust of wind in the room. Dean gets up in seconds with his gun in hand, while Alba starts chanting. Sam pushes the covers aside and goes for his knife. But Castiel doesn’t make a move.

“I was looking for you, Castiel. You have been quite absent from Heaven,” the stranger standing in the dark room says with a flat tone. “I thought it was ill-advised to stay on Earth for so long. And with those mud-monkeys.”

“Fuck,” Dean curses. “An angel.”

“Indeed,” the man says with a raised eyebrow. “How can you know? You are a strange humans, and I see you are warded against us.” To Castiel, he says, “Is this your doing?”

“No,” Castiel immediately replies. Then he hesitates. “It’s complicated. But I broke no rule, Raziel.”

“I know. But you stayed here for too long. You have to come home.”

Alba, who has stopped her spell, hides behind Sam.

“What’s happening?” she whispers to him. “Who is this guy?”

“It’s an angel, like Castiel. But don’t be fooled, a lot of them don’t like humans.”

With his knife still in hand, Sam subtly backs away to the wall, and he cuts his finger to trace the angel expel rune on the wood. If the angels heard them they don’t show it, ignoring them entirely.

“Raziel,” Castiel says with a frown. “I came here with orders. I can’t leave now.”

“The orders have changed, Castiel. You have to come home.”

“What about the Winchesters? They’re…”

“They are not our problem, if nothing they’re annoying. We will deal with them later.” Raziel abruptly cuts him. “We have more pressing matters.”

To the Winchesters’ horror, Castiel truly hesitates. Will he betray them? If Castiel turns against them, then it’s over, they can’t do a single thing to stop the angels, not on this world, without proper equipment. Afraid of an angel invasion, Sam clenches his jaw and makes his decision.

“I’m sorry, Castiel.”

“What?”

And Sam hits the rune with his hand. The room is suddenly filled with a bright light, and in seconds the angels are gone. Alba stares at Sam in awe.

“How…?”

“Angel ward. No time to explain. We have to leave, now.”

They all gather their stuff and leave the place, hoping they didn’t attract the attention of other resident of the _hosting place_. Despite the early hour and dark sky, the trio go into the forest to resume their journey to the north. After a while of walking in silence, they take a break.

“So? What was that?”

“That was a _spell_ ,” Dean clarifies. “A powerful rune to expel angels. They usually take some time to recover from that. Dammit, I hope Castiel isn’t too mad.”

Alba taps her fingers against her lower lip, thoughtful. Then she smiles.

“So you _do_ have notions in magic. I knew it. I tell you something. If you share that knowledge with me, I will train you in the arts.”

Dean chokes on his waterskin and shakes his head.

“Nope, no thank you. We’re not interested in…”

“Actually, I am,” Sam interrupts him. “The way you healed Dean… I want to know more about magic. So, we can help each other?”

Dean groans. “That’s stupid. Stupid and suicidal, Sammy.”

“Maybe. But this is our chance, Dean. We won’t have a second.”

But Dean is adamant. Sam sighs and turns towards Alba who still hasn’t moved. He nods.

“Alright. Count me in.”

“Great,” Alba says with a smile. “We’ll do great things. Come, let’s keep going. We’re almost arrived, it will only take a day or two more.”

They fill up their waterskins and leave again, this time Dean more grimly and Sam, more amazed. Things are going to change soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bye Castiel, Sorry Castiel, Come back soon *waves*  
> Oh boy oh boy  
> See you tomorrow!


	14. Spells and needles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alba takes Sam and Dean to a friend of her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You wouldn't believe the week I have  
> Sorry if it's messy, it's hard to keep track of everything  
> Enjoy!

When they arrive to the village, the sun is high but unable to warm the cold air and chilling wind. Bundled up in his cape, Dean try to ignore the fact that he misses his baby and his bunker. It’s been too long. Between that and the sudden banishing of Cas, and now his brother wants to do witchcraft? What’s happening in his head? He grimly looks at the witch talking to Sam a few meters ahead of him. Maybe they shouldn’t have followed her.

“That’s it. That’s the village I was talking about. A little chilly, but way less christianized than the others around. Let’s say they still have their little habits and rituals. Nothing awful, I can assure you. That’s not a cult.”

“We’ll see about that,” Dean says with a pout. But he walks behind his brother, to the village.

Alba makes a shy smile towards Dean, but he doesn’t give her one back. He’s not going to give her the satisfaction.

“Come on, Dean,” Sam sighs, “can you stop pouting? That’s not reasonable. You’re just acting like a four years old.”

“I’m acting like it goddamn pleases me, Sam. I’m still processing the fact that you deliberately agreed to learn about actual magic, not just a way to stop it.”

Alba looks at them both, a frown on her face, and she resumes her way to the village. As Dean is about to do the same, Sam stops him with a hand on his arm.

“That’s hypocritical. We’re using magic a lot. The runes, the protections? The summoning spells? It didn’t bother you to use magic if it was to close the gates of hell! We used magic a lot, we just never _learned_ about it! I won’t say no to the opportunity. I just wish you could at least understand, and not be angry at me.”

“Not be angry? Sam, when was the last time one of your plans didn’t blew up to your face? Especially when that’s about _magic_ and spells, and… and _supernatural things_! You can’t ask me to not be angry about this. You do you, I take care of me, let’s stay that way.”

“You won’t hold two days without worrying and putting your nose in my business, at least be honest,” Sam scoffs. “So I spare you the two days. I’m going to learn about magic. And it’s going to be okay, and I’m not asking you to do the same, I’m just asking you to have my back. For me?”

Dean stays silent for a moment, looking at an invisible spot in the distance. He eventually lowers his head, kicks a pebble.

“When don’t I have your back? I’m not liking the idea. But if that’s what you want…”

“Thanks. Don’t be mad at Alba, she’s just doing what she does best. Magic.”

Dean sighs and shakes his head. He’ll try. Maybe. They go to the village, where Alba waits for them near a stand selling roasted fish. The place seems relatively clean for a medieval backwater. Settled near a river, the houses are nicely displayed next to each other, little shops selling prepared food and drinks, the usual blacksmith. No church.

“Are you done?” she asks without looking at them.

“We are,” Dean simply says with a shrug. “I’ll make some efforts if you do too. It makes me uncomfortable, I want you to respect that.”

“Alright,” she agrees. Then she hands him a fish. “I get it.”

Dean accepts the fish with a nod, and takes a bite. It’s a little dry when it’s not oiled to the point of instant diabetes, but Dean had to lower his standards for a while now. So… it’s good. He thanks Alba and the cook, and they walk away. Alba leads them for a little longer, then she stops near a tailor shop.

“That’s here. Beatrice is a nice girl, I want you two to be nice with her. I know her for a long time now.”

“How long?” Dean asks. “Like, a century?”

Alba looks at him with bewilderment, and Sam clears his throat.

“Let’s go?”

They enter, Alba shaking her head in disappointment.

 

 

The inside of the shop is well-lit despite the lack of large windows, and warm too. Clothes and fabrics hang from the walls and ceiling by ropes and wooden rods, a proud presentation of the craftsman’s expertise. Numerous boxes with fabric are left here and there in the place, and a dress stands unfinished on a wood mannequin. Everything is way too colorful for Dean.

“That’s bright. Why is it so bright?”

“Because the sewing of clothes is a delicate task, and require to be precise?” Alba puts her bag on one of the table. “Don’t be fooled, it’s expensive to keep this place like that.”

“I’m sure it is,” Sam absentmindedly ads, looking around. “Where’s your friend?”

Just when he says that, the back door of the shop opens, and a chubby woman with a black curly mane and a bright yellow long dress enters. She puts her hand on her well equipped chest when she sees Alba, and almost yell.

“Look at that! Alba, my daaaarliiiiiing! How are you, you little mouse?”

“I’m so happy to see you, Beatrice! Look at you, you’re beautiful! I take the shop is doing well?”

“Oh, you wouldn’t believe me, we have orderings from the entire realm, my husband is thinking about leaving for a larger city, maybe to the south? Anyway, who are those two specimens?”

Sam and Dean exchange a glance before smiling awkwardly to Beatrice.

“Hi, I’m Sam, this is my brother Dean, we’re Alba’s friends.”

“What a shame, and here I thought Alba had finally found a husband.”

Alba blushes violently and shakes her head. Beatrice laughs when she sees their faces.

“Don’t be shy, come on in! I finish this and I’m all yours, my husband is delivering a mantel to the local lord, some sort of Roman style cape, they heard it gives a martial presence. You know the nobles,” she laughs again and pushes Alba towards the back shop. “Come in, Come in! Please make yourself at ease, I won’t be long!”

Following her offering, Alba and the two brothers leave the tailor shop to enter a more homey place, larger than expected. They must be rich, Dean thinks suddenly. And once again he misses his old lifestyle. He’s getting used to this one, that’s awful. Sam sits on a stool with a relieved sigh and looks around him.

“She sure is friendly. A little too much for comfort,” he jokes, “but it’s nice to see someone so nice. Is she like that with everyone?”

“Oh, you can’t imagine. She found her husband by bumping against him in a city market.”

“Isn’t it… arranged marriage?” Dean asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Not for the common people,” Sam explains. “When there’s no lands, no riches at stake, people can chose who to marry. It’s a myth, that no one chooses his spouse in the medieval ages.”

“So that’s where you call my time, where you come from?” The brothers look at their feet. Alba giggles. “I see. That’s okay, that’s a nice term. That could be worse. I’m going to make dinner for tonight, to help Beatrice. She won’t mind if that’s me. Care to help?”

This time it’s Dean who offers his help, and Sam lets him do it. That’s his way to make peace with Alba. Alba disappears for a few minutes, then comes back with a smile.

“Boys, tonight we feast! That’s pork. We’re eating pork!”

And Dean is so happy he could cry. To be so enthusiastic about something as common as pork… But he can’t care less. They prepare the meat with ease, talking about different ways of cooking it, and eventually Dean’s roasted recipe wins. With a few things aside, that could be vegetables but Dean doesn’t recognize them, they make enough food for the five of them. And it smells like Heaven. Well… Castiel wouldn’t agree, but he doesn’t know shit about food.

“Aw, man, I’m so happy to eat meat! I missed pork!”

“You realize that won’t have the same taste as you know it, right?” Sam cautiously asks.

“Who care? That’s _meat_ , Sammy! Meat! It’s been _days_ , weeks, since we didn’t eat meat! Aren’t you tired? Of course not, you freakin’ monster, you’d rather die than eat a double bacon doughnut.”

“I wonder why…”

“Stop bickering,” Alba warns them with a menacing gesture of a spoon. “I swear you’re worse than children.”

Beatrice enters the room before Dean can say what he really thinks.

“That smells good! You’re a sweetheart Alba, but you shouldn’t have bothered, I would have cooked for you anytime!”

“You’re sheltering us, Bea. That’s enough, don’t you think? Because trust me, those two are no gift. The least we can do is help with the chores.”

Beatrice giggles and looks at the boys who gulps.

“If you’re friends with Alba, then you must be special. As special as her, I guess?”

“They’re not wizards. They’re humans, but they’re different from us. And they are friends with magical creatures.”

“I see,” Beatrice hums. “And what are you doing here, Alba?”

“We’re hunted down by people. I don’t know if they want us dead or alive, but we won’t wait and find out. That’s why I need your help. You’re powerful around here.”

Beatrice sits down and taps her cheeks with the tip of her fingers.

“I will keep you safe and warm. But you know how I feel about all this, Alba. It terrifies me. Promise me nothing will happen?”

“Nothing will happen. I promise. Now that we’re under a roof, we will work twice as hard to fix everything.”

With a smile, Beatrice nods. She then claps in her hands and gets up.

“My lovely husband will arrive late. I suggest we don’t wait for him, because I’m starving and you probably do too! Let’s not leave this pork alone, what do you think?”

“Oh,” Dean whistles, “I’m agreeing with you so much!”

Sam laughs as Dean plants his knife in the meat. They’re safe for the night, at least, and everything will be fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that was an oddly comforting chapter *squints* I wonder what will go wrong?  
> See you tomorrow!


	15. old habits die hard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While helping Beatrice, Dean accidentally jumps back into his old shoes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright, given the hour you take I didn't re-read myself, and it's mostly gibberish.   
> But I wanted to post it anyway, because you deserve it

Dean yawns and stretches as he gets up from the comfortable mattress he slept on. His brother is already fighting against his hair, seated near the window.

“Morning, Rapunzel,” Dean teases him with a smile.

“Ahah. Come here, look at that.” And he points at the activity under in the street. “It’s early in the morning, and yet everyone seem to get up with the sun. Can you believe that?”

“They are _monsters_. I’m too old for this shit, seriously. I should be in my bed. Thinking of that… it’s time for Alba to keep her promises. Before the angels find us again.”

Sam rubs his face and nods with a sigh. “You’re right. It was an interesting experience, but it has to end somewhere. I’m going to talk to her.”

“Yeah, you do that. I’m going to talk with the locals, blend in a little.” he grabs his shoes, dusts them with a grumble. “What do they drink in the morning, in this city? I guess not coffee.”

“Uh, no, they drink… milk? Beer? You can ask for a beer, I guess. They’re more beer than wine, here.”

Dean’s eyes light up a little. “You serious? I mean… I can have a beer?”

“What do you want me to say, Dean? At this point I guess it doesn’t make a difference. So, yeah, go grab a morning beer.”

All his energy renewed, Dean jumps in his shoes and goes to the kitchen. Beatrice and her husband Wilhelm are already at work, both of them leaned above a drawing of clothes. He greets them with a respectful nod, and goes directly to the barrels. Beatrice looks at him with a raised eyebrow.

“You hungry for beer that early in the morning?”

“Where I come from we eat what we call a breakfast. Since you don’t…” and she shakes her head as a confirmation, “…I’m not going to eat either. But, yeah, beer. I need energy.” He drinks the tankard with a happy groan.

Beatrice leaves the blueprint to Wilhelm and smiles, adjusting her dress and shale.

“Since you seem so eager, I’m going to ask your help. We need to go and get our new delivery of fabrics, and since my husband is busy, I need two strong arms to accompany me to our supplier. It’s only a few hours of cart from here so don’t you worry too much, we’ll be here before sunset!”

Sam joins them at that moment, and he throws a worried glance to Dean. But Dean doesn’t see the problem. He needs to do something, and he just got a job. Why not?

“Alright. Why not? If Wilhelm is ok… agrees with that, of course.”

“I don’t see why not,” Wilhelm replies, his eyes still locked on his plans. “You didn’t leave at night with our riches, so I guess I can trust you.”

“Dean, are you sure about that?” Sam asks with a worried tone.

“Of course I am. I won’t be long, you just concentrate on getting us home, and by the time I come back you have to solutions. Right? Right?”

“I’ll try… But be careful.”

“I always am.” Dean doesn’t let Sam the opportunity to answer to that and he flees the room to get ready. He takes his tankard, his knife, a gun because he can’t be too careful, and a flashlight. Then he joins Beatrice in the shop.

“I’m almost ready,” she assures him, “then we’ll be ready for departure. It’s a little port on the river, I’m sure you will love the place!”

And without further due they leave the house and a very worried Sam behind them. Even if he can understand his brother’s reaction, Dean would have given anything to keep himself occupied while Alba searches for a way to send them back. And there it is, a three hours long traveling to some sort of cultural melting pot. They jump onto the cart and shake the reins.

 

Alba, her nose in a bag of herbs, doesn’t notice at first Sam’s presence. Not that he’s discreet with his height, but… being so silent doesn’t look like him. If the witch tries to do like nothing happens, and waits to see if he wants to talk, she quickly realize it leads nowhere, so she puts her bag on the table with a sigh.

“Want to talk about it?”

“What? Uh, No?”

“Then stop looking like it’s almost the end of the world. If it’s about the spell, I still need some time. And you’ll help me. If it’s about your brother, he’s a big boy, and Beatrice isn’t that bad. Stop worrying about _everything_ and relax. Here, give me the satchel behind you. No, the other one. Thank you.”

“It’s just that…” Sam scratches his chin. “I don’t know. Dean is not a lucky guy. I just hope nothing will happen to them while they’re gone.”

 

 

Dean looks at the body in front of him with disappointment. It’s not fresh, the blood has coagulated from a while, and the girl’s innards have been well started by the local carrion-eaters. But still. Something’s not quite right.

He turns towards Beatrice who, even if she didn’t throw up, doesn’t seem very well. She’s the one who has found the body, when she wanted some time off the road. If Dean had known…

“Let’ go, Dean,” Beatrice suggests. “We’ll warn the nearest village, that poor girl is not our problem.”

“You sure?” he asks. But he doesn’t wait for an answer.

Kneeling near the body, Dean examines the marks. Especially the ones on her throat. Judging by the width of the bite, that’s not a wolf. That’s not a bear either. And yet the depth of the wounds…

Yep, that’s a vampire all right. Of course that’s a vampire. He had werewolves, he had ghosts, why not a vampire this time? They never get some time off. With a loud sigh, Dean comes back to the cart.

“Where’s the nearest village?”

“That’s the port,” Beatrice says. “If I trust her clothing, that cutie wasn’t from here. She was probably from up north. Someone must be looking for her.”

“Let’s go to the port, then.”

“You’re not going to find her killer, are you?”

Dean doesn’t answer, instead he takes the reins and makes the horse throttle along the road. Beatrice dares not talking, next to him. When they finally arrive to the port, Dean gives her the lead back, and she takes the cart deeper into the city.

Again, the place isn’t New York, but it’s filled with activities, and languages of all sorts, ships from north and south also, and nothing could indicate a nest of vampires hides between those walls. But Dean is convinced of the opposite. And wherever the monsters are hidden, he’ll find them.

“Why don’t you find your merchant? I’m going to look around.”

“Alright… Be back in an hour?”

Dean nods at her and walks away, looking for a group of people who could wear the same type of clothes as the girl. He finds them, a group of eight men and four women near some sort of little boat. Hoping them speak the same gibberish as him, Dean goes to them.

“Excuse me?”

Only one of the men turns towards him and eyes him suspiciously.

“What do you want, stranger?” he asks with a thick accent, but at least he understands.

“I’m from the village a little further east, I’m sorry to ask you that but were you accompanied by another girl? Blond, yea high, a blue dress with fur on it?”

The man frowns and nods. The others have turned towards them, but so far they don’t seem to catch up on the conversation.

“Yeah, that’s Slania. How do you know her? She doesn’t even speak your tongue.”

“I’m really sorry, mister, but I have found her body in the forest,” Dean says with a very solemn tone, earned from years of experiences of impersonating members of the FBI. “If you need, I can show you where I found her.”

With tears in his eyes and a loss of words, the man makes a little nod. His face is washed from all colors.

“Who did this to her?!”

“I have no idea. Since she didn’t look like she’s from the area, I wanted to find you before warning the local defense.”

“I’m going to crush his head myself!”

 _That could work_ , Dean thinks, but he’d rather do this himself, without anyone risking their life against a vampire. So he resumes his questioning.

“Are you here for a long time? Days, weeks maybe?”

“What? Why are you asking that?”

“To help you find who did this. I’m… let’s say I’m a professional.”

The man seems to bite it. The others around ask a lot of questions, but so far he doesn’t look like he’s ready to answer. Dean just hopes he’ll give him his damned answers.

“A few days, six or seven maybe.”

“Did… Slania happen to act differently? Maybe discuss with a local man or a group of women?”

“I don’ know. Slania is…” he bravely holds his tears. “ _was_ a very social girl. Always happy, friendly with anyone. There… There was this girl, maybe, a local from the tavern. She’s pretty, but not very smiling. That’s all I can remember.”

“Thank you for your time, if I find anything before you do be assured you will be warned first.”

He salutes them again and leaves them to deal with the ravaging news as he searches for Beatrice. He finds her near a boat where she talks vividly with a man. Eventually she spots him and gestures at him to come closer.

“Did you find what you where looking for?”

“Yeah, the girl’s family, obviously. I had to warn them. What about you? You done with your fabric?”

“Oh, yes, and this man is telling stories from all around the sea! Even from the East Empire! Isn’t that great?”

“Terrific,” Dean sarcastically says.

He helps Beatrice fill the cart to, his eyes darting around them to look for anyone who looks suspicious. But he realizes he’ll have to come back if he wants to hunt for good.

Everything is so simple with a car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the next one will be actions only, I promise! It's been a while since I didn't do one mostly about actions, but I wanted the boys to have a break before everything goes to hell.   
> Hey, it's the middle of the fanfiction!   
> See you tomorrow!


	16. In the Darkness of the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's investigation leads him farther than he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am absolutely sorry, my week has been crazy, and I didn't have the Internet last evening, so here went my daily update.   
> Here's my chapter 16, The next chapter will follow soon enough!  
> Enjoy!

****

When he hears the cart coming back a little after sunset, Sam drops the parchment he was writing on and goes down the stairs in a hurry. They’re late, but at least they’re here. Imagine his surprise when he stops in the doorway to see there’s only Beatrice on the cart. She spots him and waves at him with a smile.

“Hi! Good evening, Sam! Come here, I need to talk to you.”

With a frown, he closes up the distance between him and the horses.

“Where’s Dean?”

“About that… He found a body in the woods, but he didn’t want to talk to me about it. He decided to stay the night at the port, that’s all he told me. He wanted you to know.”

“He did _What_?!”

 

After having finished charging the cart, Dean looks around him again, in hope of seeing someone or something strange. But still. No chance. If he had his baby he would’ve done a round-up to catch Sam and then come back here, but with a vehicle that slow, he can’t. So he does the next best thing he can think of.

“I’m gonna stay here, at least for the day and night.”

“I’m sorry?” Beatrice looks at him with surprise.

“I’m staying. I have to take care of something. Can you tell my brother where I am? So he doesn’t panic?”

“Oh, because you think he won’t panic? I don’t know where you come from, but here at night the place is _dangerous_ , and nevermind if you’re built like some sort of dreamy warrior, you can be stabbed and be dead in less than an hour.”

“I take the compliment. Thanks Bea.” And he winks at her and grabs his bag.

Beatrice gives him some coins to stay the night at the tavern, and he thinks about the ‘waitress’ the girl, Slania, met before her death. Maybe that’s where his investigation will lead him, who knows? He leaves Beatrice be, and goes back to where he found the body.

That’s not far from the village, only half an hour of walk from the port, and Dean wonders how she’s never been discovered before. Maybe no one took that road. When he arrives he sees the group of people he talked to, Slania’s friends, around her corpses. Not even the girls dare crying, but the ambiance is tense and cold.

“Ah, you’re here. I wondered where you were,” the man says with a low voice. “You were right. I still can’t believe it. Did you find something?”

“… Not yet. I’m working on it.” So Dean starts circling the area, looking for clues about who did that. Maybe a torn clothe, hair, blood leading somewhere.

There’s no blood around her head, he suddenly realizes. The body has been moved. So he looks for prints, a dragging mark, and he finds broken branches near the ground, low enough to have been broken by someone holding a weight. And a footprint that doesn’t match those of a woman. This is becoming complicated. Maybe the girl is innocent… maybe she’s bait for a larger nest.

“You shouldn’t stay here,” he warns the group. “The place is dangerous at night.”

“What did you find?”

“I found enough.” Without a glance backwards, he leaves the forest to go back to the port.

He sneaks around for a while, waiting for the night to fall. At this hour Beatrice should almost be home, the ‘few hours drive’ is way much than Dean expected, and he simply hopes nothing will happen to the girl. Eventually when the time comes, he enters the tavern and wears his cutest smile.

Filled with people, the place swarms of activity, laughs, conversations and music. This isn’t surprising, since it’s a place of exchanges and meetings. Dean makes his way towards the counter and stops when he spots the girl he was looking for. Tall, brunet, but all Dean can think of is how pale she is. Maybe not enough sun in her life? Elbowing his way towards her, Dean salutes her with a smile. She looks at him with an eyebrow raised, and yes, she’s not very smiling.

“Good evening lady. What are you doing here all by yourself?”

“I don’t know. Waiting for the right distraction, I guess. What about you? What are you doing in this backwater?”

“Looking for the right distraction,” he repeats while looking over the counter. Not a lot of choice in beverage, he sees. The beer will do. “You want something to drink?”

She hesitates, but when she sees he scrutinizes her, she finally nods. “Whatever you take.”

He asks for two beers, and gives one to her.

“To the right distraction,” he toasts.

She does the same, but when he starts drinking, she only take the tankard to her lips. She doesn’t drink. Bingo.

“I have an idea. Let’s be each other’s distraction. Why don’t you accompany me in a more private place?” Wow he sounds like a douchebag. He had worse pick-up line but… How do you pick-up girls in the dark age?

“You are one direct man. I thought men from the south didn’t drop their pants until the girl was either whore or married.”

“You thought wrong, lady. What’s your name?”

“… Tabeth.”

“Well, let’s get to it,” he offers her his arm, and she takes it with a shy and fake smile. Dean tries to ignore the awkwardness and focuses on keeping her far from his neck. He should have soaked his blade in the girl’s blood before coming. No point thinking about that now.

For a while he lets her guide him through the port, going past several houses before stopping near the edge of the forest. And before she can do anything else, he traps her between him and the bark of a tree, his knife against her throat.

“I know what you are, girl, and it ain’t pretty. Now, tell me where your nest is hiding, or I kill you dead painfully.”

“What?! Wh… How?!”

“I’m a hunter. That’s what I do.”

The fear is Tabeth’s face leaves place to a glorious, ominous smile.

“I’ve never eaten a _hunter_.”

Dean raises an eyebrow… and blacks out as someone hits him behind the head.

 

Waking up in a start, Dean looks around him to asses the situation. It’s dark, that he can tell. It stinks. It’s cold. Dean groans and try to unfasten himself, but the knots are tight and painful around his wrists.

“You’re awake? Good.”

The voice is not the girl’s. But it’s definitely a woman. Cracking his neck to look behind him, Dean catches sight of his captor. Tall, slim, her clothes seem somewhat anachronistic, but he can’t tell why, it’s too dark.

“What do you want?”

“You were hunting my proteges, and you ask what I want? What I want is your head on a silver plate. But now is not the right time. You will be served and sacrificed to my vampires.” Saying that, she disappears in the darkness with front of a very surprised Dean. So… not a vampire, this one! He pulls harder at the ropes and manages to free one of his hands. Without his knife it won’t be easy to deal with the blood suckers, but right now he needs to think about survival.

He hears the creak of a door, and curses. He’s not alone anymore. A laugh echoes near him. Dean avoids a fatal blow to the neck by sheer skill. With his free hand, he punches the vampire in the teeth and grabs him by his neck to head-butt him. One down for now, he rapidly frees his second hand and gets up to run. From what he can see he’s in an underground complex so… maybe a mine? No time to think, another monster jumps at him all teeth out. Dean protects his neck with his arm, and yells when the vampire’s fangs pierce his skin and flesh. Alright now is time to never _never_ open his mouth in front of a vampire, dean clenches his jaws and pushes the vampire aside. He looks around him for a weapon and finds a piece of wood that could do the trick. Grabbing it with two hands, he bashes the vampire’s head with it. Blood and brain splatter his clothes and face, and he quickly wipes them. A shriek resounds near him.

“You killed him! You killed him! I’m going to rip off your throat!”

“Well, I ain’t got all day! Come on!” Dean taunts her. When she attacks he raises his weapon once again.

 

Dean is at his third vampire when he hear rushed footsteps on his right. When he braces himself for impact, he nearly bashes his brother’s head.

“Sammy?” he says, surprised.

“Dean! Whoa, easy! Are you okay??”

“I… What the fuck are you doing here?”

“What do you think I’m doing here? You think I’m stupid? You went on a case alone, I got worried and I was obviously right! We killed two vampires to find you!”

“We?”

Behind Sam, Alba looks grimly at him. She’s wearing brown pants and a masculine shirt, and her hair are tied in a loose bun. She’s quite hot like that, Dean thinks, but her frown is a cold shower.

“… What did I do?”

“We, uh, we’ll explain later. Where is the rest of the nest?”

“That’s a little more complicated,” Dean states. Just as he says that, they all fly against a wall.

“You killed my proteges!” the same voice as earlier screams in the dark. Flames arise from the walls, and the three humans blink and squint at the sudden light.

“What are you?” Sam asks, protecting his eyes and not letting his knife go.

“ _WHO_ am I! I am the Night! Goddess of everything that lives in the shadow below the moon!”

But they had to see the evidences, they never heard of her. Dean winces at the confused look Sam gives the ‘goddess’. Even the nerd is at a loss of word.

“… Who?”

“ENOUGH INSOLENCE! You, with your stupid ‘religions’ stopped offering me gifts and sacrifices for _centuries_!! And now, rising against your condition of mere cattle, you’re butchering my precious ones?! I won’t stand for this, humans!”

The only thing worse than a god is an abandoned god. They tend to do whatever it takes to have what they want. Sam and Dean exchange a glance.

“What do we need to kill a goddess?”

“Nothing we have under our hand, I’m afraid…”

Alba stays silent, not leaving the goddess out of her sight. When the Night approaches, the witch chants a quick spell, and blinds everyone. The Night screams under the sun-like light and she takes a few steps back.

“You won’t escape me!” But she doesn’t have time to do anything else as some sort of horn coated in blood pierces her heart from behind. She looks down with surprise, blood dripping from her mouth, and she falls on the ground, dead.

“You need that to kill a goddess,” Castiel states with his usual blankness. “A goat horn coated in virgin blood. If you hadn’t expelled me nothing of that would have happened.”

Sam and Dean look right and left. Alba still seems angry, and Castiel has every right to be either. They are in so much trouble.

“Let’s… We should get out of there before someone else arrive, right?”

They leave the complex grotto and find themselves in the middle of the forest in the middle of the night. With a sigh, they make their way to the horses, and walk back to the village. They take several hours to reach Beatrice’s house, but they finally arrive when the sun shyly shows itself behind the trees. Alba opens the door and calls out.

“We’re here! Everyone’s al–” she screams in front of all the blood.

On the ground lies Wilhelm, his throat opened by a sharp object. A bowl is broken near him in a puddle of blood.

Alba walks back slowly, until she collides with Sam.

“It’s all your fault,” she whispers, breaking in tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahah ! Plot twist and drama!


	17. Holy Fire Tells the Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Dean and Alba have to make peace, Sam and Castiel look for Beatrice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am *so* late it's indecent.  
> I promise I will catch up on that. Here's my 17th chapter! Again, it's un-beta so it's probably a little messy, sorry about that.  
> Enjoy!

Turning on her heels, Alba starts hitting Sam on his arms and chest, openly crying in front of the devastation in the house. Dean runs up the stairs, calling for Beatrice, but to no use, she’s nowhere to be found. Sam lets Alba pour out her rage on him for a while, and eventually she stops and just sobs, so he hugs her.

“I’m so sorry, Alba. If… If we had known, we… We never wanted this. I’m sorry.”

“Why? Why all this?! Death, destruction, it’s all around you!”

“Now that’s some news,” Dean sarcastically says behind her. “You think we don’t know that? You think we want to be the center of everything that goes kablooey? Think again, Alba! We’re tired, too! In our time, in this one, that never changes!”

Sam looks dagger at his brother, and Dean sighs before going to one of the room to find something to wrap the body in. Alba stays a little more against Sam before swiping the tears on her cheeks.

“I can’t believe it. Beatrice, Wilhelm… They were so nice, so gentle…”

“Hey, We don’t know where Beatrice is, that means she may not be dead. We’ll find her.”

Castiel eventually enters the room too, looks at the body before investigating the room. If he has something to say he doesn’t show it, he simply observes. Dean comes back, shaking his head.

“No trace of forced entry, no trace of Beatrice. There’s a few things missing in a drawer, though. Tell me Alba, you forgot nothing?”

“Like what?” she sniffs

“Like telling us Beatrice was also a witch?”

As Dean violently drops a hexbag on the table, Alba steps away from Sam and looks at the brothers with fear in her eyes. Sam raises his hands as a sign of peace.

“Hey, we’re not going to hurt you, you know that, right? We’re just trying to understand what’s going on. Can you help us, so we can go and find Beatrice after that?”

“I… I didn’t mean to hide it from you,” Alba stutters, “but… Beatrice didn’t want anyone to know, not even her husband! Who am I to tell her secrets? Beatrice would never hurt anyone! And blaming people like us, that’s rich coming from _you_!”

Sam and Dean exchange a confused glance before staring at Alba. Castiel simple spectates the drama happening in front of his eyes.

For a moment, Sam is at a loss of words. What does she mean? They have been fair play with her from the beginning, if he remembers well.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to be more explicit,” he says with a sorry smile.

“We have to go,” Castiel interrupts them abruptly. “I sense something is going to happen. And the mere fact that I cannot track down Beatrice is dire news. You cannot stay here, all of you.”

He then immediately goes towards the door and leaves the room, leaving the three humans behind. Dean clears his throat.

“Alright, that’s normal. Uh, we’re going to split up. Sam, you team up with Cas, try and look for Beatrice. Alba, you’re coming with me, we’ll get rid of the body with a proper cremation, and we clean the house before disappearing. We’ll apologize later, we have work to do.”

If Alba is against the idea she doesn’t mention it, she simply nods and goes for a broom, Sam takes his gun and leaves after Castiel.

 

Dean heavily sighs as he properly rolls the body inside the fabric. What a waste. The guy was cool. Once again the Winchester brothers proved the world they are a train wreck everywhere they go. Alba doesn’t say a thing as she clean the blood from the floor.

“Alright,” Dean eventually calls out, ready for the fight. “Whatever you have to say, say it.”

Alba raises her head, then she kneels near her floor cloth.

“You should have told me. About what you and your brother do in life. What your purpose is. You hunt and kill people you consider ‘non-human’. People like me.”

“What? That’s…” He shakes his head. “That’s a little more complicated than that, Alba. When you put it like that you talk like we’re monsters. We’re not! We saved the world! Several times. So yes, we hunt monsters, we kill them, put them to rest, prevent them to kill innocent people.”

“What about witches? When you talked with your brother, you were outraged at the idea of learning magic from me, Dean. It made me uneasy, but I accepted it. I didn’t realize until later that you were actually hating us because you kill us for a living.”

“Not a living. We don’t live of a job like that. Listen, Alba, like I said, _complicated_.”

“Tell me, then. Explain to me. I want to know.”

With a huff, Dean lifts the body on his shoulder and gets out of the house without a word. He puts the corpse into the cart, lets Alba harness the horse, and they discreetly leave the village to find a place to cremate Wilhelm. The whole time, when they find a place, cut wood, make the pyre, Dean doesn’t say a single word, not an explanation. But when everything is done, he has little choice but to talk.

“You know, a decade from now I would have killed you on the spot for knowing you were a witch. I wouldn’t even had thought about it. But I learned from my brother, and from my experience, that all monsters aren’t bad. All witches aren’t wicked. I made friend with a vampire. I mourned a werewolf. I teamed-up with a demon, actually, and I let him live for… well I tell myself for as long as he’s useful, but I guess we’re kind of even, you know?”

He looks for a while at the flames rising from the pyre.

“Anyway. You’re safe with us, because you’re not a threat to humanity. So you’re an innocent. I’m sorry if there has been a misunderstanding, and I’m sorrier if that’s our fault Beatrice and Wilhelm are… Let’s just hope Sam and Cas find her.”

Alba stays silent the whole time, not even looking at Dean. But when he’s done she takes his hand.

“Dean? Thank you, for explaining. For apologizing. I guess I needed that.”

“That’s okay, let’s keep clean up the place and leave.”

They ride the cart to the village in a more peaceful silence. Well, that’s until Alba opens her mouth.

“Say, I’m wondering… what was the bowl doing in the puddle of blood?”

“The what?”

 

After a complete search of the village, as discreetly as they managed, Sam and Castiel have to face it: Beatrice is gone. Sam gets out of the tavern where he asked around, and he stretches himself before rubbing his face in frustration. Not a clue. Poor Beatrice has vanished without a single trace.

Castiel appears near him in the usual _woosh_ of his wings, and he shakes his head.

“I can’t find her, this is quite frustrating, I have to admit.”

“Well, we can leave the village and search around for possible clues. Beatrice obviously didn’t learn how to teleport.”

“How to what?”

“To, uh… to fly. How to fly.”

Castiel looks suspiciously at Sam, but he eventually agrees. They walk through the street towards the nearest path leading outside.

“Where did you learn how to banish angels?” Castiel suddenly asks out of nowhere.

Unsettled, Sam doesn’t know how to answer. Does he have to tell the truth? He decides he does.

“You taught us how to do that. Just like you protected us against the angels, with the warding, you showed us how to banish or capture them.”

“Why would I do such a thing? That is ridiculous, you and your brother are incomprehensible.”

“I know right? Listen, I wanted to apologize. You helped us from the beginning, and yet I banished you without a single hesitation. Next time, I will warn you, I promise.”

“You are forgiven, Sam, your act was the most judicious one, for Raziel will not as merciful as I have been. Beside, your ingenuity plays in your favor, because you have been spared for that. Heaven wants to know more about you. You are safe, for the time being.”

That’s oddly _not_ reassuring, Sam thinks, but he tries to smile at Castiel nonetheless. Sometimes he forgets how self-satisfied and confident in their might the angels can be. Sam changes the subject to make the unease disappear.

“About what happened to Wilhelm, do you have any idea?”

“I do. But I’m afraid it won’t reassure you. Dark magic has been used in this house. Dark and powerful. I think we are dealing with a demon.”

“A demon?? How so?! I didn’t…” Sam feels stupid. He didn’t smell sulfur, but that doesn’t mean much. And another clue should have put him in the right path.

The broken bowl. A demonic contact has been made, and Wilhelm has been the unwilling connection. Dammit.

“So we’re looking for a demon? That’s going to be a little more complicated, then!”

“Not for me, it won’t be. As soon as you have localized the witch, I can deal personally with it.”

A voice resounds behind them, and as they walked further and further from the village to try to find clues they should have been alone in the area.

“I’m afraid you will have to cancel your plans.”

Sam and Castiel turn like on man toward the voice, and find themselves in front of a large horse on which is mounted a man wearing red. The man drops a torch, and in an instant they are surrounded by a fire they immediately recognize.

 _Holy Fire_.

“You walked right into my trap. You are as self-confident as I heard. Unfortunately you won’t go farther. What is unholy can’t escape the Holy Fire of God.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I have ever heard,” Sam retorts. “Holy Fire is supposed to trap angels, not demons nor monsters!”

“Oh, because you know so much. Prove me, then, that Holy Fire can only restraint those who are Holy.”

And it’s with utter disappointment that Sam realizes he can’t. Whatever he tries, he won’t be heard.

He recognizes a fanatic when he sees one.

“I’ve wanted to know you for a long time, Winchester.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A new foe appears, and you can't pokeball him! Ah, the dark ages fanaticism, who doesn't want that?   
> See you tomorrow!


	18. Constantine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam is in trouble, Beatrice is nowhere to be found, and a new enemy makes a glorious entrance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah! I'm catching up on my late chapters!   
> Enjoy!

Castiel looks around him with a pout on his face. He can’t get out, he’s stuck for good. He can’t even call the others to help him, Heaven told him it is _his_ mission to understand the Winchesters. They will leave him to die for his mission if this is necessary.

Besides, he may be the only fool who likes to walk on Earth.

Raising his head, Castiel takes interest in the staring contest between the man in red and Sam. Behind the man, a little farther, stand five other men, all on horses. And there’s one that seems… unfit in the group.

“What do you want?” Sam asks aloud, still standing in the circle of holy fire even though he could easily get out of it. “You know me, I don’t know you.”

“Fair enough. I am Constantine. I am one of the many servants of God, the one you so vehemently refuse to acknowledge with your pagan rituals! We followed your ‘accomplishments’ since the beginning, when you made the world tremble with your dark magic!”

“So, the mercenaries’ attack, that was you? You killed those farmers in hope of having _information_ about my brother and I?!”

“The Lord moves in wondrous ways, Winchester. We were right to try to stop you, for you have brought the Devil in the House of God. Everywhere you go, destruction closely follows.”

“Oh, please,” Sam scoffs. “You killed everyone.” He steps out of the Holy Fire, and takes his gun out. Aside from one, all the men behind Constantine make their horse take a step back, and whispers rise between them.

Constantine doesn’t even flinch.

“Your magic doesn’t scare me, Winchester.”

“It should,” Sam simply replies. He shoots Constantine in the leg.

He falls from his horse with a yelp, and immediately one of his men is at his side, looking after his injuries. Sam takes advantage of the situation to try to get the Holy Fire down and save Castiel. He doesn’t have time. An arrow pierces through his right shoulder to plants itself in Castiel’s chest. Sam yells and fall on one knee, pressing his wound with his other hand. He should have seen this coming. He just hoped the detonation could be enough to scare them and make them leave, but they seem determined to kill them. He can’t afford to use all his bullets on them.

“What were you thinking?!” Constantine yells at him, still seated on his backside in the mud. His minion is attending to his wound. “You’re surrounded, and yet you attack _me_?! You must be suicidal!”

“I didn’t think this plan through,” Sam mutters through his teeth.

Castiel looks down and takes the arrow out before throwing it aside.

“You have to let me out if you want me to heal you,” he states with his usual phlegm.

“You won’t lift a finger on the humans,” Constantine snarls as he gets up with difficulty. “The Winchesters will be brought to safety until it is time for their trial. They will serve as example for every fool who wants to use dark magic against our Lord. Not doubt your brother will follow you shortly.”

Saying that he gestures at two of his men to seize Sam and get rid of his weapon. Sam glances worriedly at Castiel, but he knows the angel can’t do a damn thing for him as long as he’s stuck.

 

Castiel looks helplessly as they drag Sam away, along with Constantine and his ominous right-hand man. A soldier stays with him, uncomfortable at the idea of staying alone with a _monster_. Castiel doesn’t say a thing. He stands still, waiting.

“What are you going to do?” he asks the young human.

“I am supposed to send you where you belong. In Hell.”

“I do not belong in Hell, for I am a servant of the Lord, an Angel of the Lord.”

“Keep talking, your lies won’t reach my eternal soul.”

He takes an arrow, pours holy water on it, aims at Castiel and shoots.

 

 

Dean takes the remains of the bowl and looks closely at it. Its inside is still stained with blood, and Dean curses between his teeth. Demonic phone booth. He should have seen this coming. How is he supposed to tell Alba that her friend has probably been taken or killed by demons? Possessed, even?

“So?” Alba asks. “What’s this?”

“That’s, uh… a way to communicate… for demons. They use blood as a phone to call their pairs.”

“Demons?! And… What’s a phone? A demonic thing?”

“No that’s… Think of this as a very quick way to contact someone. Yeah, that’s that.”

Alba looks down for a moment.

“So Beatrice has been taken by demons. Why?”

“I have no idea. Let’s find Sam and Cas. Maybe they picked up something.”

Once they finish cleaning the house, they grab little stuff they have left inside and leave the house and the village behind. There’s nothing more for them here.

After a while of walking away from the habitations, Alba stops Dean and look around.

“Do you hear?” she asks. “It sounds like someone screaming!”

Dean listens, squinting at his surroundings, and he eventually hears it: that does sound like a scream, but not of fear. More of anger. He takes his gun in one hand and they follow the sound.

The scene that displays in front of them leaves them speechless.

Castiel, standing in a circle of fire, is surrounded by arrows and his clothes are torn from the holes they weapons left. Near the circle, a man seems to lose his mind over the fact that he emptied his quiver, and yet his enemy is still standing.

“WHAT ARE YOU?” he screams again, red with rage and frustration.

“I already told you, I…” He turns towards Dean and Alba, and respectfully bows his head. “Dean. Alba. I am in need of assistance, as you can see. I could wait for the fire to die by itself and deal with this man, but your brother has been kidnapped. Is this some sort of a game, for you? To be abducted by everything and everyone?”

“You have no idea,” Dean mutters. “Well, we have to help him.”

Alba raises her bow and kills the man with a well-placed arrow, and she uses a spell to smother the fire. Castiel steps out of the burned circle and stretches.

“What happened?” Dean asks.

“We ran into a group of fanatics. Or rather, they were waiting for us, with this trap. They hurt Sam and left with him, and I was alone to witness the pathetic attempt at killing me by this monkey. I am sorry, I should have been more careful.”

Just for once, Dean allows himself to place his hand on this new Castiel’s shoulder, and he shrugs.

“It’s not your fault. You did what you could. Why do they have Holy Oil? I thought it was rare.”

“What? Of course it isn’t. Holy Oil isn’t rare.”

Oh, the abyss separating their two times.

“What bothers me,” Castiel resumes, “Is how can they know what it is used for?”

“We should be concerned about Sam,” Alba says with a frown. “We’ll think about that later.”

“You’re right. Cas, can you get us as close as possible? Then we’ll handle it, we don’t know what kind of weapon they can have against angels, we won’t take any risk. We’ll call you as soon as it’s safe.”

“I can take care of myself, Dean,” Castiel retorts. “You humans doesn’t realizes how powerful…”

“We know, Cas,” Dean interrupts him. “But what if they have something to kill the angels? Like an angel blade or whatever? What if they know other tricks to stop you? I can’t take that risk.”

Taken aback, Castiel doesn’t immediately replies. But after a minute, he simply bows his head.

“I thank you for your concern. If anything goes wrong, _anything_ , you will call to my help. Do you understand?”

“Yep. Let’s go.”

Castiel disappears with them.

 

The camp in which Constantine is staying doesn’t look like it but it’s well guarded, in the flank of the river as to protect it from possible encircling. He is either rich, or powerful.

“What do we know about this guy?” Dean asks in a low tone as they observe the camp from the edge of the forest.

“Constantine. He was a bishop, a powerful one, before he decided to take the fight against heretics in a more… direct way. He’s violent, fanatical, and I am starting to think he’s misled by his right arm.”

“You _think_? What does he wants to us?”

“He’s following you since your arrival,” Castiel states. “He wants us dead since the incident in the monastery.”

Alba throws unsure glances towards the camp.

“And we have to attack them?”

“Yep. After you, milady.”

Alba sticks her tongue out and takes her bow. She carefully aims at the first sentry. “Once I hit, Castiel will have to bring us to the other side. They will think we’re numerous, and they will split up. It will be easier.” She releases the arrow, and hit the first target. Castiel puts his hand on their shoulders, and in an instant they are in the other side of the camp. Alba kills another sentry.

Dean chooses this moment to creep his way through the door while everyone is running to try to find the assailants. Hidden behind the first tent, the hunter tracks down his brother. He’s probably in the most impressive tent. He slits the throat of the guard in front of the largest tent and drags the body inside, and he looks around to look for a potential threat. But there’s just Sam.

His brother is bloody, beaten, attached and angry. But he’s alive. Dean rushes to his side and take the gag out of Sam’s mouth.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes,” he mock him.

“Screw you. Constantine is gone, you just missed him.” He hisses when he accidentally moves his injured arm. “Don’t try to catch him, we have to go.”

“What? And let him live?”

“Yeah well, tough luck.”

They leaves the tent behind, and Dean calls for Castiel since the only threat for the angel has disappeared. Castiel pops out of nowhere and smites the rest of the soldiers in a glorious light. Alba is not far behind him, she quickly comes towards them.

“Sam, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll live. Thanks. They wanted to know about our _magic_ but that’s not like torture can make me talk,” he jokes. “Let’s get out of here and fast. Put as much distance as we can between those lunatics and us.”

In a light touch, Castiel makes all of Sam’s wounds disappears, and he looks around them for a way of going faster. There’s a cart with horses, and they decide it’s better than teleporting away every two minutes. Dean doesn’t want Heaven to put their nose in their business just because they overused angelic powers.

It doesn’t take long for them to ride far from the devastated camp. But still, they don’t halt. They really have to leave.

“You boys,” Alba scoffs, “you really know how to put yourself into bad situations.”

Dean sighs.

“Yeah, tell me about it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's "To be continued..." chapter, again, because I like that. Don't worry, everything will be explained shortly!   
> See you in a not so long time for my chapter of the day!


	19. Lost and Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam, Dean, Alba and Castiel manage to leave Constantine behind, but something always catches up on them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright! I'm in time! Gosh that feels good!   
> Because that's quite a time since I didn't say it, sorry for my English, sorry for my typo and sorry for the mess.   
> That feels good too.  
> Enjoy!

Away from Constantine and his minions, Dean feels a little more at ease. He never met the guy but he already hates him. It sounds safer with the wolves and the bandits. Still, Dean can’t help but be worried: his brother hasn’t talked since they left with the cart. With was hours ago. What actually happened in this encampment?

“Sammy? You alright?”

“What? Uh, yes, why?”

“I don’t know, you tell me.”

“I’m fine, stop worrying.”

That’s a cute lie, Dean thinks. But he leaves his brother be. They’ll have to settle soon, if they want to spend the night in a relative peace. Damned be the middle age. Castiel stops the cart near a cave.

“I do not sense the presence of any wild animal. Maybe this could be a good spot to settle so you can rest. I will keep watch for you.”

“Thanks, Castiel,” Alba manages to say while suppressing a yawn. “I think we all need it. I brought dry meat, if someone is interested.”

They prepare a semblance of bedding inside the cave, ignoring the cold and smell, and they make a fire. Alba shows Sam how to summon a flame with nothing but powder, but they both agree that’s an advanced spell he won’t master immediately. Good thing, Dean thinks. The last thing he needs is Sam throwing _fireballs_ in the bunker.

“Is there something magic can’t do?” he asks.

“If you’re ready to break rules, not really, no. We can play with the elements, bring someone back to life, and so much more, but my mentor was a wise woman, she forbid me to seek more than I needed. That way I wouldn’t be tempted by black magic.”

“Is that how she did it? Beatrice? Is that how she managed to become rich?”

“Uh, yeah, probably.”

They look at the fire in silence. And after a glance towards his brother, Dean finds himself worrying again. Sam is lost in his thoughts, a frown on his face.

 

_Sam is thrown against the tent’s large peg, and he hisses at the pain it causes in his shoulder. In front of him, Constantine seats on a stool and attend to his wounds by himself, cursing against Sam._

“ _You are a danger to God’s sheep.”_

“ _Oh please, stop talking about God like you know him.”_

_Constantine doesn’t answer, he simply takes pliers and he gets rid of the bullet his jaws clenched as he suppress a pained groan. He throws the bullet aside and bands his leg. He then gestures at his second_

“ _Benett, I need to interrogate him about what kind of magic they use. Will you assist me?”_

“ _I can do better than that, my lord. I can do it myself. Do not forget that his brother is still on the loose, and you are injured. Let me take care of this, and go to safety. We don’t want to lose you.”_

_Constantine looks at him with surprise, but after a quick glance at his leg, he nods._

“ _I leave you to lead the operation. Do not fail me, and stay alive. Those heretics must not win.” Without a single glance towards Sam, he limps out of the tent. Sam looks daggers at Benett._

“ _There, no need to be so aggressive. You’re in good company,” he laughs. “So? When you arrived, and I assume that’s when you arrived, there has been a gigantic magnetic wave. A lot of people felt it. A lot of bad people. Where do you come from?”_

“ _How can you… Where did you learn about_ magnetic waves _? You’re…” Now Sam is utterly confused. This man should not know about that kind of science. Did they really lose that much from the dark ages? “I won’t tell you a single thing.”_

“ _Oh, you will. You think you know something about torture? Think again.”_

 

Sam starts with surprise when he feels a hand on his shoulder, and he looks at his brother in confusion.

“What? I’m sorry, you were talking to me?”

“Yep. You sure you’re alright?”

“Stop it, I told you I’m fine, can’t you take that for an answer?”

he pushes his brother’s hand and gets up to stretch. Dean is worried, he shouldn’t be. Of course, he knows about torture. And of course Benett couldn’t make him spit a single thing, he just lost his time. They both did. But somehow something bothers Sam.

He knows this man. There’s something off about him, something inhuman that they already met. But where? With a frustrated sigh, Sam leaves the cave and goes further into the woods, claiming they need more sticks for the fire. But when he’s far enough he simply apologize to his brother and gets witchcraft out of his bag. Dean doesn’t need to know, yet, that Benett may be more dangerous than Constantine. He has enough on his plate. He quickly draws a map on the ground, based on their travel and the river, places Alba’s rocks around, and uses her pendulum as he whispers the spell. The pendulum starts circling the map, searching around. He just needs a direction…

“Need help?”

Sam startles when Alba’s voice resounds behind him. He turns towards her and shyly smiles.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make it a secret. I just… I don’t want Dean to ask questions, he’s already worrying sick.”

“He’s right to do so. You look weird since we rescued you.”

She sits next to him and looks at the map. Sam sighs.

“Constantine is a threat. But his right arm… Benett. I don’t know, Does it happen to you that you know someone you should have never met?”

“No, but I understand what you mean. You sure you don’t want Dean to know as well?”

“I’d rather wait and see, if that’s okay. Maybe I’m worrying for nothing. I’m looking for Constantine but…”

“You’re doing well,” she reassures him. “You’re good with magic. Let’s see if we can pick up a location,” she says, completing the map.

Sam resumes the spell and lets the magic do the work.

 

Sam and Alba eventually come back, and Dean can finally breathe. He acts casual, but the look Castiel gives him indicates he doesn’t fool the angel on his true feelings. So he simply ignores him, and tease his brother.

“Well that was awfully long just to pick up wood.”

“We, uh, we found herbs and flowers, and I wanted to know their properties.” He launches himself into a long litany of boring facts, and Dean tunes out his voice until he’s finished.

“Interesting,” he lies as he feeds the fire. “Glad to see your nerdiness didn’t die when we arrived here. Anything interesting that could help us go home, on your herbs?”

“Unfortunately not,” Alba apologizes, “But that will help infections and closing over wounds. You two need that a lot.”

Dean sticks out his tongue at her and laughs a little. She’s so right. They eat in a comfortable silence, and call it day. Dean smiles at Castiel and tells him goodnight, he might get used to that new Cas.

His misses his own Cas so much.

 

Dean prides himself of a heavy sleep. Like his brother claims, there could be another Apocalypse right next to his door, and Dean wouldn’t even bother opening an eye.

However there’s two things that can wake him up in an instant.

The voice of a loved one in danger, and the typical _woosh_ of an angel’s wings.

He opens his eyes and goes for his knife the second the feels the air displacement in the cave. In front of the entrance: Raziel. Again. Castiel is already standing between him and the humans. Sam, Chuck bless this one’s sixth sense, has his gun in hand and aims at Raziel even though he’s not even _out_ of his blanket. Alba is not totally awoken and tries to make sense of what’s happening around her.

“Castiel,” Raziel says aloud, not bothered by the humans’ presence. “Your time has come. You need to come back where you belong, to your family.”

“My mission is not done, Raziel. The Winchesters are still here, and something grim and powerful is looming over this world. We can’t leave it to die, it is not what our duty is. I can’t follow you.”

Raziel looks at Alba, Sam and Dean with apparent disgust, his delicate features lit by the remains of the fire in the center. His vessel must not be older than Castiel’s.

“You were always too attached to humanity. But I do recommend that you stop playing doll with those mud monkeys, your place is, I repeat, in Heaven.”

Castiel shakes his head.

“I’ve made my choice.”

With a sigh, Raziel turns towards Dean and points at him.

“Is this him? Your favorite pet?”

“Do not, Raziel.”

Dean suddenly feels a terrible pain in his chest, and all his internal organs seem to crush themselves with a violent spasm. In seconds he’s on the ground, gasping for air. Sam rushes towards him, but he’s sent flying to the cave’s wall before he can reach Dean, who’s left helpless and in agony.

“Stop!” Castiel yells. “Why are you doing this?!”

“Accept to follow me, and he will be harmed no more, Castiel. Make your choice. Quickly.”

“You win. I will follow you to Heaven.”

As fast as it arrived, Dean’s pain disappears and he coughs and gasps, dizzy with the lack of oxygen. He gurgles something, unable to talk for the time being. But he can’t let Castiel leave. Not now, they need him.

He needs him.

“Cas…” he manages to say without too much of a strain.

“I am sorry, Dean. But you will not hear about me again. We are done. This is for your own good.”

And he turns his back on Dean and follow Raziel out of the cave before they spread their invisible wings and leaves the humans behind. Dean lets his head on the ground and he looks at the entrance with despair.

“Dean?! Are you alright?!” Sam shouts as he rushes to his side.

“No, Sam. I’m… pretty far from alright.”

He misses his own Cas so much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry Dean, seems like that's not your day  
> See you tomorrow!


	20. The Woman in the Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam, Dean and Alba have to do without Castiel, as danger still lurks around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, please don't be mad, but since it's late and I have class tomorrow, I'm posting it without having even re-read it.  
> Don't mind the typo and mistakes  
> Enjoy!

In the morning they leave the grotto behind and follow the road showed by the pendulum to find Constantine. Dean isn’t really reactive since… since what happened in the night. And it’s Sam’s turn to worry about his brother’s health. There’s nothing he can do, now, Dean doesn’t accept help from anyone. What he needs is booze, women, maybe a case, anything to keep his thoughts away from Castiel’s kidnapping. Because that’s what that was. Angels were, are, and will be douche-bags. Keeping the reins, Sam looks at the road in front of him while Alba reads her notes on a precious set of parchments next to him, and Dean is lying in the back of the cart, his eyes focused on the sky above him. Adding to the cold, there’s a large pack of clouds hiding the sun.

“Do you think we’ll have snow?” Sam asks Alba.

“That’s probable,” she answers without raising her nose from her notes. “If that’s the case then we will need shelter and fast, sleeping in the open is enough dangerous as it is, but under the snow we’ll be dead before dawn.”

Great. Sam just wants to see snow, not think about ten ways to die because of it. Regardless, she’s right. They have to find a house. One that won’t be destroyed by Constantine and his men.

“Can’t you do that with magic? Find a safe place in the area?” They’re not far from the target and they both know it, no need to mention it in front of Dean. “That would be great.”

“I… Can, actually. But I need time, and I will need you to keep an eye over my corpse while I’m out.”

“You can trigger an _out of body experience_? Like that?”

“What am I, a trainee? Yes, I can, you will, too, if you stay focused on studying magic.” she winks at him. “Let’s do this.”

She hops in the back of the cart with Dean, rummages through her bag to take herbs and powders. She mixes everything and inhales deeply before saying a spell. Dean catches her before she can fall.

“She’s unconscious! What the hell did you talk about?”

“Uh… Magic?” Sam shrugs. “She’s fine, she’s looking around for a place for us to stay.”

Sam gets in the back of the cart too, tying the reins to the cart to not lose them. He stares at Alba for a while before turning towards his brother.

“He will come back, you know? That’s Cas.”

“Yeah well, Maybe he’s right, maybe we won’t see each other again. What if we fucked up the future?”

“That’s stupid, Dean. If we don’t run into Castiel in the future, then there’s no one to help us against Lucifer, or the angels. So we wouldn’t have been capable of surviving until we meet the witches who used the spell. So, if we never meet Castiel, we can’t get stuck in the past. We’re here, we’ve met him. That’s logic.”

“That’s _nerd_ logic,” Dean replies with a confused frown. “What is this thing inside your head? Because that’s not a normal brain.”

“No normal life, no normal brain.”

Dean looks down, a sigh of defeat passes through his lips. Sam can see he’s not totally convinced. Who would be? His brother is depressed. Maybe he’s getting really tired of their lives.

To add to the sour mood, white little snowflakes start falling from the sky in silence, floating around with the wind that whistles softly through the trees. With a mumble, Dean covers Alba with a blanket, and they wait for her return.

It takes her an hour to get back to her body, but eventually she regains consciousness and looks around her with tiredness.

“I found something. An old house, probably abandoned, but that’s our best shot. It’s an hour of walk away from the nearest village.” She glances at Sam. Constantine’s village, he understands.

Sam nods and jumps behind the reins. Dean simply sighs again before protecting their stuff from the snow. Alba guides the cart.

“I’m warning you, it’s in ruins. Half the roof is missing, there’s no bed, no furniture. The fireplace might be useful, though, and that’s near a river.”

“You just found us a palace,” Sam jokes. “Don’t worry, Dean and I are pretty good at fixing things. We’ll do up this old house.”

 

They eventually arrive at the house. Alba didn’t lie, it’s in poor shape, but the sort-of cottage is still habitable. There’s even the remains of a stable, and Sam and Dean get the cart and the horse in safety before the snowfall can get worse. And since some rooms of the house are still standing, they get to safety rather quickly, the cold becoming more difficult to tolerate.

“I like the place,” Alba says with a smile as they are all around the fireplace, huddled in their blankets. “It’s nice, it’s protected, and the walls are thick and standing. What else can we ask?”

“I don’t know, a radiator?” Dean asks with shivers, “Maybe a fleece jacket? A really insulated house?”

“What?”

“He’s being picky and irrational, don’t listen to him,” Sam replies, elbowing his brother. “That’s better than the caves and the risks of being gutted by bandits. As soon as the snow stops falling, we can repair the roof, insulate some more maybe, and make this place a real house to settle in for the time being. We need to rest, if we want to be effective in our search to go home.”

They eat little food they have left and get ready for the night. They have a lot to do next.

 

Sam, Dean and Alba spend three days repairing the house. The cold is more and more present, and it never really stops snowing but at least they’re in safety, and once the roof is fixed, the house becomes a little warmer at night. They block the windows and make food supplies, and Dean seems to be a little more alive as the days pass. That’s more than Sam could have asked.

The third night in the house, something unexpected happens.

Someone knocks at the door.

Exchanging a glance, Sam and Dean grab their guns and while Sam goes for the doorknob, Dean places himself on the other side, ready to act if something goes wrong. Sam opens.

Outside is standing a blond woman, her blue eyes catching the light of the fireplace with intensity. She seems… upset.

“Winchesters, I need your help!”

Sam is taken aback by the fact she knows their names. What’s up with weird girls around here? He lets her in either way, mostly because it’s snowing outside and she doesn’t seem threatening. Dean looks bewildered by the decision.

“Oh, she’s inside now?”

“We don’t know who she is, let her talk!”

Pulling her hood from her face, the woman looks at the three of them and takes a seat.

“You need to help me. It’s about Castiel.”

Dean seems suddenly more alert. “What about Castiel?”

“He’s a prisoner. He’s in trouble, and I can’t ask anyone with the task of saving him. You have to understand that…”

The door flings open once more, and a beam of fire flies between the brothers to hit the woman right in the chest. She immediately takes fire and burns with a scream. Alba screams as well. She fire stops as suddenly as it happened, leaving only ashes behind it. Sam and Dean turns towards the door, their guns in hands, and find themselves face to face with… Beatrice.

“She was stupid, she led me right to you. Isn’t it too bad?”

Dean shoots her with his witch-killing bullet. Beatrice yelp and bends in two, but doesn’t die. She stands up with a wicked laugh.

“You thought this was going to be enough?”

“It should have, unless you’re a goddamned demon!” Dean shouts, placing himself between Beatrice and Alba.

“Look at him he’s so smart.”

Beatrice then starts slowly walking inside, but she stops just after the door, and raises her stare. There’s a devil’s trap right on the ceiling. Sam curses between his teeth.

“He told me you were resourceful. I didn’t believe him. Let’s keep it simple. I don’t have the right to kill you, yet, but it’s a matter of time. Don’t forget about me, because I won’t be very far. A mistake from you, just one, and I will kill you all.”

She backs up to the door and disappears into the night. Sam finally breathes. That was a close call.

“I don’t understand,” he says aloud. “Why would she give us her location? Wouldn’t it be more effective to stay hidden then strike at the right time?”

“Not if she didn’t want the woman to talk,” Alba shakily replies. “One less angel on earth is a good thing for them, I guess…?”

“That means they know more than we do. Maybe they know about angels.”

“But demons can’t call for them,” Sam states. “That means they need someone else to do the dirty work.”

Dean looks at the ashes near the fireplace, and he heavily sighs.

“I… I have no idea, man. But Castiel is in trouble. Again, or already, I don’t know.”

“We will save him,” Alba assures him, putting a hand on his shoulder. “For now we have to find out who was that woman, how she knew so much, and how these… demons know about what happened.”

Sam raises his head, struck by a sudden Eureka.

“I know! For the demon to operate, they need humans that are well-versed in the occult arts! That’s the best way to know about angels and demons! They just need to be pointed to the right direction, after that! And Beatrice is a witch, which means…”

“Which means she can have contacts in covens all over the area,” Alba realizes. “She’s a white which… she was. But that doesn’t mean she can’t know other forms of magic. She made her own coven.”

“You sound like a true hunter,” Dean congratulates her. “Alright. Here’s the new deal. We find the coven, we get our intel, and then we bring back Cas.”

Sam and Alba nod and demon proof the house.

If Beatrice wants war, she will have it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A CASE! Finally!  
> Don't worry, Cas, We'll save you!  
> See you tomorrow!


	21. The Coven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new case awaits the trio, and Castiel is obviously in need of help.  
> What does Beatrice want? Who was that woman?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've just finished writing it and I'm already posting it because it's past midnight and I didn't have the easiest day. Forget my typos, bla bla, the usual.   
> Enjoy!

Dean, Alba and Sam don’t sleep much that night, for they are way too busy with compiling evidences and clues about the witches’ behavior in that time and day. If Beatrice has help from other witches to stop the angels, then they must be powerful. If they are powerful, then there must be clues about magic activities in the area. That’s not much to run with, but what choice do they have?

“I’ve never heard about black witches activity in here, but there’s definitively witches. A whole coven. If a demon managed to trick Beatrice then… Maybe they’re all under a spell?”

“Or,” Dean states with a deadpan face, “They made their choice. There’s not a lot of humans who can resist the call of power.”

Alba’s face dims a little, and she shakes her head.

“Not all witches are bad, Dean.”

“Not all witches are good.”

Sam puts down his parchment and loudly sighs.

“Guys, seriously, stop. There’s more important, Castiel is in danger, a woman knowing about the angel died _right here_ , and there’s demonic witches against us. Maybe you can settle your argument later?”

They both cough and go to their respective task: Alba on her tracking spell, and Dean on the preparation of a witch-killing blade that could also kill a demon. If that works. At least that will slow them down until they can exorcise them. Sam, on the other hand, is making Holy Water. Alba already told him she was skeptical about this religions means, but since they have great results with them she can’t argue. Those pagans.

An hour after the sunrise, they are ready to leave. They wards the house a little more, happy to have a place to stay, and they take the road to the village. It’s time to ask some questions. Disguised as pilgrims as to not draw the attention of the Church, especially if that’s Constantine’s territory, they make their way towards the first building, another ‘medieval fast food’. Dean loves giving names to things.

“I salute you, baker,” Dean says with a solemn voice that makes Sam facepalm behind him. “We are new to the area, and we want to know more about your beautiful territory.”

“What? I don’t know, what are you interested in? There’s not much to see, around here. It’s dangerous and wild, we’re close to the mountains. The winters are harsh, but that could be worse. And we’re a Christianized village, because our rulers sold their souls to the south empire. But mostly, people just want to survive, so we don’t care.”

“That’s… very descriptive. Thank you?” Dean looks a little taken aback.

Sam takes over the questions.

“Did you notice anything strange, in the area? We… uh, we come from a place where wolves are our main problem, so… we’re a little worried of what could be there at night.”

“Strange? Of course things are strange, here! The animals, they obey the demons, and not only the wolves, but bears, foxes! Everything! It’s said they can make a whole forest grow inside of a field just because the farmer is disrespectful, it’s said they have orgies between the trees, and whoever spots them in action has their eyes ripped out of their head.”

“Alright… We hear you, we’ll try not to stay outside at night.”

“You should go to our church, they’ll explain better.”

“I think it’s well explained,” Dean whispers to Alba, and she snorts a little too loudly at the joke, drawing both Sam and the baker’s attention. She regains her seriousness.

“Anyway,” the baker says, “The place’s not really safe. You should’ve stayed in your south. Good luck with that.”

To thank the man and make good impression, they buy him food with coins Dean probably looted on corpses. Since they don’t look where money comes from… His mouth full, Alba summarizes the situation.

“So, the place is under Christian law, but there’s still superstitious beliefs, and everyone knows about it but no one acts to stop it?”

“Yep.”

“Just a normal Monday for the people, I guess,” Sam says with a shrug. “I mean, that’s like fairy tales. It keeps the children out of trouble, force young people to behave, and secures the Church’s influence on the gullible and the next generations. Who can protect them against the demons if not the Church?”

“Right,” Alba concedes. “But there must be something else.”

“A higher influence?” Dean tries.

Sam and Alba exchange a glance. That could be that. Maybe someone is pulling the strings in the area, and protecting the witches, giving them a safe place to practice, or to sleep without being murdered by the premises of the hunters. Dean looks at them with a confused stare.

“Why not? We never thought of that,” Alba lies to him, a little guilty. But Sam was adamant. “I suggest we go to the surroundings to look for circles of mushrooms or trees of life.”

“What? You mean… that’s real?” Dean asks with surprise.

“Of course that’s real, why wouldn’t that be?”

The brothers stay silent. Because that sounds naive? Childish? Like from a fairy tale? They give none of the explanations that go through their minds. Instead they smile at her and follow her until they arrive at the edge of the village.

“You know what?” Dean suddenly stops them. “I’m gonna go through the village a little more. Maybe one of them is living in there, and she’s not the smartest. Maybe I can find someone to shake a little, to find what we’re looking for. Go have fun with your circle of mushroom, you little witches you.” And just like that he turns around and goes back to the village.

Sam and Alba look at each other again.

“He knows we’re hiding something,” they say in unison. And they grimace at the idea.

 

Dean whistles as he walks through the streets, along the adorable little houses that composes the village. If Sam and his new best friend want to hide things from him? Fine. Really. That’s fine. But Chuck, they are _bad_ at it. And it’s probably what they did in the forest that Dean doesn’t know about. Maybe about magic? He doesn’t have a clue. But there’s more important. Castiel is in danger. Sam can keep his little secrets for the moment.

Looking around, Dean takes notes about the village, the public place in the center, the shops and the tavern. He goes for the tavern, he did a really good work last time he went in a tavern.

When he gets out, he may have drank a little too much, and asked too few questions. But this beer is way too good, he’s going to have a hard time going back to American beer after that. Light-headed, Dean resumes his walk in the village in hope of finding something more useful than the tavern. Less fun, but more useful.

He gets more than he deserves.

In an alley leading to the little building used as a church, a men and a woman are talking vehemently, and Dean hides to listen to their conversation.

“That’s stupid, we can’t do that,” the woman says in an angry tone. “That would take days at least. A week!”

“You don’t have much of a choice, here. He wants results, you’re going to give him some. And you have four days,” the man warns her. “Not a day more. So find the angel. That’s enough of the bitch warning the Winchesters, don’t you think? What do you think will happen to you if they double-cross us?”

“… We’ll do our best.”

The man salutes her as a mockery and he leaves towards the village with a laugh. Dean barely has time to hide better before the man passes right next to him. Holding his breath, Dean waits. When he’s sure to be alone, he enters the alley and looks for the girl. He finds her walking towards the forest behind the church, and he follows her in silence.

 

Alba looks, impressed, at the little device Sam holds in his hand. It can shine better than a torch, and farther too. That’s so useful!

“Can I keep it?” Alba asks.

“No,” Sam says. “We don’t want to mess with the timeline. Besides, you have magic.”

“Fair enough.”

They investigate the forest for anything unusual, and aside from a grim looking circle of mushroom, there’s nothing to indicate a coven is living in there. But Alba doesn’t lose hope.

“The place is sparkling with magic! This is definitively the forest of a coven!… You can’t feel a thing, do you? I’ll show you how you can open yourself to that kind of clues, you’ll see it’s fun and easy. My mentor showed me how to do it really early.”

Sam nods, but he stops in his tracks and looks around with a frown before answering Alba. They both crouch behind a bush, to observe their surroundings.

Lights.

Torches or candles can be seen through the woods, unmoving but far from the village. Their placement is odd, like a circle or other sort of symbol that could be traced from above. Exchanging a nod, Sam and Alba take their flasks of holy water, their witch killing bullets, arrows and knives, and their prepare themselves for battle. Dean should be with them, Sam thinks, and he feels guilty for having left him apart of their plans. But he mustn’t know about Benett, yet, he could become paranoid with all this.

“You ready, Alba?”

“Born ready to defeat evil.”

“Slow down.”

They crawl closer to the lights, and start hearing the chants of a coven. Bingo. Sam apprehends to know if they’re really witches or demons, but he doesn’t have time to rack his brain about it. Alba gets up and goes right to the witches.

“Alba!” Sam whispers at her, but she doesn’t listen.

“Sisters,” she calls to the witches, “something terrible happened! Demons are trying to use us to do evil! But we must not submit to them! Please listen to me, or it will be your doom!”

The witches raise their heads from their tasks and look at Alba with bewilderment. As Alba approaches more, one of them shouts a spell and Alba flies towards the nearest tree.

“Alba!” Sam gets out of his hiding place, and he shoots at the witch who tries to stop him. She drops dead in front of the others, and they scream at the sight before getting ready to defend their lives.

“STOP!” a voice behind them calls.

When they all turn around, they see Dean arrive, holding another woman at gunpoint. The woman has her face wet with tears, but she tries to remain dignified. By the look of the others, she’s the leader of the coven.

“Don’t try anything, girls. We have been double-crossed.”

“Impossible!”

“Impossible?” A feminine voice echoes from the shadows, followed by a slow clap.

Approaching the lights, the blond woman that died by Beatrice’s hands. She looks… alive, but most of all she looks changed. A little more mischievous. Sam and Dean exchange a glance. Alba raises her head with a wince, still in shock after the blow.

“… How?”

“How indeed.” the woman snaps her fingers, and in the instant all the witches die.

Alba screams.

“Gabriel!” Sam shouts. The woman looks surprised. “You’re Gabriel, right?”

“So, you know about me? Why am I only half-surprised? It seems I bet on the right horses. I am, Gabriel, that’s right, but let’s keep it a secret.”

“Why did you call us?” Dean asks, on his guards. “you dealt with the coven by yourself!”

“Because an Angel can’t summon an angel. And since you know me, you know how I love Heaven, right? I can’t be seen here. I needed you right on this spot, where witches desperately try to summon angels. They can’t. They lack an ingredient, the spell their… master… gave them is incomplete.”

“And you’re going to help us?”

Gabriel shrugs.

“I like my little brother. He likes you. Would you have trusted me if I knocked on your door without having drawn Beatrice with me? Or would you have lost time by interrogating me?”

“If you told us who you were from the beginning, we would have helped you.”

“That I didn’t know, Samuel.”

She walks to Alba and heals her with a light touch.

“I need you alive. I need you to summon Castiel and heal him, and in exchange I will hide you from Heaven. Am I not the nicest angel?”

“You need something.”

“I need you out of this timeline. Find Beatrice. Stop her and go home.”

With the _woosh_ of her wings Gabriel disappears, not without having left the ingredients in the middle of the circle drawn by the witches. Unlike Alba who tries to make sense of all that, and abstraction of the death of all her sisters, Sam and Dean immediately go for the ritual. They prepare the mixture they know well after having used it a lot, and Dean clears his throat to say the spell.

A bright light shines in the circle, and Castiel heavily fall on the ground, almost unconscious, and mostly hurt. Dean rushes to his side, completely panicked.

“Castiel!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Castiel, what in *Heaven* have you done this time?


	22. Playing with Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel is hurt, their enemies are lurking around, and Sam and Dean have yet to understand who's the real threat behind all this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! Look at that I'm still alive!   
> I've wanted to resume this fanfic as fast as I could, and here I am! Making my way downtown, writing fast ♪  
> Anyway, thank you for all the hits and kudos and comments, Let's go on this adventure for the nine last chapters, I'll try my best not to make you wait between them!  
> Enjoy!

Back at the house, after having burned the bodies, Dean settles Castiel in the bedroom, in his bed, and tries to look at his injuries. There’s only one explanation for this, and that’s _Heaven’s full of dicks_. They tortured him. Castiel is still unconscious, his frail frame, way thinner than Jimmy, seems to have broken under the harsh treatment. He hopes the vessel is saveable, the kid didn’t ask for anything.

“Don’t worry Cas, we got you. You’re going to be fine.”

He doesn’t really believes in that himself, he’s still unsure they’re in a temporal loop. What if he dies here? What if they come back to their time and everything is destroyed, just because Cas tried to help them, sacrificed himself for them here? He can’t imagine that. He just can’t. He can’t fuck this up. He manually treats Castiel’s wounds, like he would have done it for a human, and hopes this could be enough to keep the angel safe.

When he gets out of the bedroom, Alba and Sam arerestlessly waiting near the fireplace. It’s snowing again, and the cold is felt even inside.

“How is he?” Alba asks.

“He’s alive, for the moment. There’s not a lot of things that can hurt an angel, but every mean against them can be fatal. He’s been tortured. Typical angel dick move.”

“Is he going to be okay, though,” Sam ads, chewing one of his nails. “He survived worse. And like I said, if he is to die here, then we would never end up in this time, temporal paradox and all that…” he spots Alba’s incredulous face, “…shit. It’s hard to explain but… Well, if we survived until then, it’s because of Cas. If Cas dies here, then we don’t meet him. If we don’t meet him, we die, and we can’t fight the witches who sent us here. Do you follow me?”

“Dude, even people of _our_ period can’t follow you. There’s, like, hours of arguments and debates about how a travel through time can affect both eras! Why are you trying to explain us that now, you nerd?”

“Yeah, you… nerd!” Alba uselessly goes one further.

Sam sighs and leaves them, pretending he has to make food. It’s obviously because his nerdiness can’t stand to be called out by Dean _and_ Alba. Dean winks at the white witch.

“We won.”

“Did we, though?” Alba asks. “I mean… Yeah, Castiel can survive but… We lost many of my sisters, Beatrice is still trapped, the demon is on the loose, there’s still those guys after you. Bodies drop everywhere!”

“Talking about that, what the hell were you thinking, going to those witches like that? Were you trying to get yourself killed?”

Alba answers nothing, she simply crosses her arms around her chest and looks away. Dean shrugs.

“Don’t want to talk? That’s fine. But don’t do that again. You can’t trust everyone! Hell, you can’t trust _anyone_!”

“Really?” she says, still not looking at him.

Dean knows he goofed. He shakes his head with a sniff, and goes to Castiel’s side. Alba walks out, to find Sam.

She finds him gutting a bunny, and sits near him.

“You know that’s illegal, right?”

“Everything we do is illegal, we shouldn’t even live here. Anyway, it’s kind of a miracle a trap I placed caught something, don’t you think? It’s winter, they should be hiding.”

“This one lost his way, maybe. Do you think Castiel will eat some, or do angels respect every lives?”

“They… They don’t eat, Alba. Last time I saw Castiel eat something, he spitted it out with a face and said _it tastes like molecules_. Never put something in his mouth again, except coffee and beer.”

“I see. It must be a sad life if they don’t eat nor sleep.”

“They’re not supposed to _live_. They’re, uh, sentient being, multidimensional wavelenght of celestial intents. At least that’s how Castiel explained to us. They don’t think like us, don’t react or interact like us. They’re…”

“… Different,” Alba finishes. She sighs at his nod. “How are we supposed to help him if we can’t help ourselves?”

“We have to _hope_. That’s our best shot. We, uh…” Sam looks for the good words, “Whatever fell on us, we always manage to get through. To survive, at least. And then, if that’s not to save the day, we will always do our best to fix things. Get hurt, get better, repeat. That’s how life works, when we’re hunters. And you’re a hunter, now, right? I mean, you fought evil creatures, you investigated strange events. You’re a hunter. You’ll be fine.”

She raises her eyes to look at him, and a smile eventually creeps on her face. She elbows him with a chuckle.

“Oh, stop it.”

He giggles with her, relieved to see her smile. He concentrates on his bunny again before talking.

“For now, all we can do is wait and hope for the best. Cas’ a tough one. He’ll survive. And we have bigger problems. If I could get close enough to Beatrice, her trapped would be the best, then we can try a good old fashioned exorcism. But even with that, there’s no certainty she’ll be back. Your friend. I’m sorry, Alba.”

“… Whatever it takes to stop that monster from using my best friend’s corpse. Stop thinking I’m a poor girl who needs to be protected from everything. I don’t know where you come from, but here we have to deal with death on a daily basis. And, what can I know? Maybe if it wasn’t you, then barbarians would have raided her shop and killed everyone, or worse. Or the fanatics from the south. Or the warriors from East. Or a disease? Poisoning? An animal attack? A monster attack? Think about it, Sam. No one’s safe. No one is ever going to be safe. It’s time we both learn that, for the best.” She pats him on the shoulder and goes inside, leaving him with his thoughts and the hard realization that she’s right.

Night comes fast, accompanied by a biting cold and a strong wind, and Sam and Dean spend a good hour sealing the windows off more effectively, while Alba tries to make a stronger fire, one that will keep them warm until dawn. Castiel is still unconscious, and that deeply concerns everyone. They eat in silence, and Sam orders his brother to take some rest. If Dean is about to complain, the yawn that escapes his mouth is enough to cut the argument short. Dean and Alba go to bed, And Sam stays near the fire, fearing another demon attack. They know where they live. But with this weather? The hunters don’t have anywhere to go. And they’re so close to find out about Bennett… No turning back on this one.

So close to the fire, the temperature is rather warm, but Sam can’t seem to sleep. He’s got a feeling at the back of his mind, an unease he didn’t have since…

But that’s impossible. That can’t be it. Maybe that’s close, but that can’t be.

The fire suddenly crackles more violently, and Sam startles in surprise and wakes from his slumber.

“What the…?” He tries to get as close to the fire as possible, looking between the flames with a frown.

Whispers echoes around, and Sam gets a grip of his witch killing gun. But there’s nothing more than the whispers. So Sam listens, and gasps.

Oh, the motherf…

Without warning the others, not wanting to awake them in the middle of the night, Sam secures the house and leaves, weapons in hands.

 

The snow crunches under his feet, and soon his shoulders are covered by a thick blanket of powder, but that doesn’t stop Sam from following the path to the village. He’s following his sixth sense, and so far it hasn’t been wrong. That doesn’t reassure Sam. After all, it that’s not the snow, or wolves, that kills him in the forest, that will probably be his reckless move, and his stupid idea of following a magic message. If that wasn’t it, why would the fire whisper to him? Typical witchery move, Rowena could have done that easily. But who can use magic in this village?

Sam stops a few meters before the edge of the forest, and looks around him as his breath creates clouds in front of his face. The village is asleep, there’s almost no light around, and the sight is slightly frightening from someone who’s used to see villages and cities lightened nights and days. A movement makes the snow crunches not far from him, and Sam tightens his grip on his knife and turns around.

Bennett.

No, not Bennett. Not really.

The man is covered by a thin cape, and doesn’t seem bothered by the biting cold around them. Instead he wears a grin of absolute contempt on his face. And his eyes… His eyes are yellow, Sam realizes.

“Azazel…” Sam chokes out, this time completely and rightfully frightened.

Bennett – _Azazel_ – raises and eyebrow, seeming surprised to have been recognized so easily.

“So you know me. I shouldn’t be surprised, you and your brother seem to be… rather different from this world. And that confirms my suspicions, _you_ are the ones who created the shock wave. Tell me, human, how is it that you know my name?”

“Oh, so you intend on resuming your interrogations? Like that? What am I, stupid?”

“Obviously not,” the demon chuckles, making a chill crawl up Sam’s spine. “But I need answers. You managed to summon the angel. More than that, you kept him and he didn’t ran away. You’re _friend_ with him, right?”

“Why are you doing this to yourself?” Sam scoffs. “You know I won’t answer.”

“Let’s make this simple, then.” Azazel rubs the stubble on his chin. “I will answer one of your questions, and you will answer one of mine. Simple as that.”

Sam frowns. That seems a little too easy. Azazel could easily break him in half and leave him to die right here. He’s a demon! So why is he doing this? They don’t have the Colt, here he is invincible! And yet he’s right in front of him, waiting for his answer. That’s unnerving. Maybe Sam shouldn’t have come here. What an idiot.

“So?” Azazel asks abruptly. “I don’t have all night.”

“Alright. But I can ask my question first. It’s not like I could trust a demon, and you know that.”

“You’re cautious,” Azazel chuckles again. “I like that. Alright, ask your question.”

“Of all the demons down there, why is there a Prince of Hell roaming earth and playing human without causing any apocalyptic damages?”

This time Azazel laughs aloud, so suddenly that Sam makes a step back and draws his knife.

“You! I like you! You and your brother have knowledge you shouldn’t have! But fair enough, I’ll play along. There’s on this earth secrets that need skills and discretion. And, as you said it, as a Prince of Hell I go wherever I please. My question, now. Mine. Why is there an angel following you and protecting you?”

“Heaven asked him to,” Sam lies without a second thought. “We’re important.”

By the look Azazel gives him, it seems to be working. But for how long?

“I see…” the demon simply states. “I see. We will see each other again, Winchester. Do not doubt it. And this time, I will have all my answers.” And just like that he disappears, leaving Sam alone at the edge of the forest.

Sam makes his way home, nervous, as fast as he can. How did that happen? Why is he alive? Is it because of Castiel? Of _Gabriel_? He doesn’t know how long his lie will hold, but they have bigger concerns than Beatrice, now. Way bigger.

He closes the door behind him as soon as he’s home, and uselessly locks it twice. For a moment he listens to the light snoring of his brother in the other room, and allows himself to breath. When was the last time he has been so scared?

For the first time he realizes there’s tears streaming down his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here he is! Their mortal enemy! Azazel was a good character for the beginning of the series, even if he has been overtopped after that. But since we're back in the past, I wanted to do a little jumpback in the past of "Supernatural" too, because It's not all about the last seasons, but also about the first ones that started it all.   
> Here I am, rambling... I'm so happy to be here!   
> See you around!


	23. I'm not mad, I'm mortified

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean learns about Sam's discovery and decides to be his stupid self again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ♪ If you're late in your fic posting clap your hands ♪   
> It's time to finish this one, I'll try my best to finish it before the next nanowrimo!

Dean wakes up to the sight of Castiel leaned above him, looking at him with an intense stare. Not for the first time he jumps and groans.

“Dammit, Cas, how many time do I have to tell you to _not_ stare at sleeping people?!”

Castiel frowns and tilts his head to the side. “You never told me that.”

Oh, right. Dean rubs his face and sighs. It’s been a while since he managed to have a real night of sleep, and he finds himself alert and full of energy. Alba is already awake, so he and Castiel are alone in there.

Castiel. Who’s still weak, still hurt, who didn’t use his power to heal the cuts and the bruises. But he’s awake, he’s alive.

A little more aware of his surroundings, Dean gets up and grabs Castiel’s arm before he can back away. The angel raises an eyebrow at this, but he doesn’t jerk away.

“How are you feeling?” Dean simply asks.

“I am… Fine. I am alive. And I am free. I don’t understand why my kin did this to me.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“No.”

Dean lets go of Castiel’s arm. If he’s emotionally constipated, then the angels are a new level. But he doesn’t insist. Castiel will talk to him. With time.

With a few centuries.

Fighting with his covers, Dean frees himself from the coat and opens the windows. It’s still early in the morning, but it’s maybe because it’s winter that Dean has this impression. Castiel is still behind him, burning holes in the back of his head without a single comment.

“Let’s have breakfast. I’ll kill for a coffee, but we only have tea.”

“coffee?” Castiel asks.

“Yeah, coffee. You know, little beans, you crush them and then drown them in hot water, and after that you get only the heavenly juice and you pour two kilograms of sugar inside and that’s pure bliss?”

The look on Castiel’s face is enough for Dean to understand he won’t have any heavenly juice on this era. With a sigh of pure defeat, Dean joins the other in the living room.

And he immediately stops as the sight of his brother.

It has been a long time since he last saw him this shaken. He’s pale, tired, he talks softly with Alba, and she seems as concerned as Dean is. Quickly striding towards them, Dean puts his best smile on his face and tries to act as if nothing’s wrong.

“Morning guys! I guess coffee/bacon isn’t a breakfast option? Oh well.”

“Hi Dean,” Sam absentmindedly replies. He then seems to land back on earth. “How you’re doing? Hi Castiel! You look good, better than yesterday, anyway.”

“I am well, thank you for your concern,” Castiel says with a bow of his head. “What about you? You look troubled. Did something happen?”

Dean is glad Castiel asked. If the question came from him, Sam wouldn’t answer. But maybe he’ll be a little more open with their friend. Alba frowns at the question, and Dean creeps near her.

“Yeah, what’s wrong? Did the world end yesterday?”

“No,” Sam blurts out, “No but… close.” He sighs and sits in front of his mug of herbal tea. “I couldn’t sleep last night,”

“I couldn’t tell,” Dean jokes.

“Shut up let me finish. I couldn’t sleep because I was _cogitating_. But, uh, There’s worse. I… Alright. Dean promise me you won’t yell.”

“Oh, that’s yelling material, brother.”

So Sam falls silent and looks at his mug, and Alba loudly sighs before death-glaring Dean. The elder brother takes a step back, considers his options, and eventually they all sit around the table.

“Okay. I’ll try not to yell. Tell us.”

“I went outside. I followed a message.”

“A _magical_ message,” Alba corrects, throwing glances at the fire.

“A _what_?!” But Dean doesn’t have the right to yell, so he bites his tongue and talks as calmly as he can. “Okay so Hoppity Bibbidy going through the fire and you _follow_ it. Because nothing can go wrong.”

“I wanted to know! I-I… You know what? After all we’ve been through, you should know by now that whether we follow the leads or not it eventually kicks us in the knees! So I wasn’t going to wait for it to come at us!”

“Okay okay! So what? What was the message? Was it Beatrice?”

“No.”

“… Care to develop?”

“It wasn’t Beatrice. It was _Bennett_.”

Dean stays silent for a minute. He turns towards Castiel who stood silent the whole time. The angel’s frail frame is still bruised, and like that he looks more like a child than ever. But the look of his face betrays a thousand years of life and an inhuman cunning.

“Bennett is the man who followed Constantine, is that right? There’s something amiss about him, I could tell. But what?”

“That… About that,” Sam laughs, ill at ease. “He’s not a religious man, and he certainly doesn’t serve Constantine. He’s… Well he probably did, at some point,” he rambles, “But not anymore. He’s Azazel, Dean. We’ve been followed by Azazel this whole time.”

“Who’s Azazel?” Alba asks, her eyes going back and forth between the two brothers.

“He’s a demon,” Sam explains, “a powerful one. He’s a _prince of Hell_ , and that makes him invincible. There was one thing that could have killed him. Two. But both are out of reach, so that makes him invincible right this moment.”

Dean clears his throat.

“Can we go back to the moment when you decided to have a secret meeting with a Prince of Hell?”

Silence settles in the place as Sam lowers his gaze, embarrassed.

“I couldn’t possibly know, and you _know_ that. But, I get it, you’re mad.”

“Oh, no, no no no, I’m not mad, Sammy. I’m _mortified_! What the fuck?! What the hell were you thinking?! Or maybe you don’t remember what he’s done! that’s _AZAZEL_ we’re talking about! Do I need to remind you he…”

“NO you don’t, Dean! You don’t need to remind me _who_ Azazel is! But like I said, I DIDN’T know! How was I supposed to even imagine that Azazel was already on earth at this time?! And what was I supposed to do? He knows where we are, either way we’re not safe! Now we know what we’re dealing with!”

“WITH AZAZEL, SAM!”

Castiel takes a step back when Dean starts yelling, and Alba gets up as well to find something to do. The two brothers stare at each other in silence for a moment before Dean eventually breaks.

“You know what? I’m already fed up. Like, of all the bullshit that happened to us, Azazel was by far the _worst_ memory I have. The worst. And you’re a _big part_ of that bad memory, Sammy. And now you’re doing it again!”

“Dean…”

“Nope! I’m going. I’m putting as much distance as I can between Azazel and me, and your _witchcraft_ and me, and I’m going to find a way to _get us the hell back home_ where Castiel remembers me and likes coffee and beer and doesn’t look like a goddamned child.”

“Do _not_ swear,” Castiel warns him. But he’s completely ignored.

“In the meantime,” Dean resumes, “You _two_ stay right here, Or I break your legs! And you wait for me to come back with a way to fix this mess. It’s been long enough.”

And, tuning out Sam and Alba’s desperate calls, Dean gathers his stuff and takes the door. Castiel simply steps aside and wait for the argument to be over. Once the house has fallen completely silent, the angel eventually speaks.

“It was reckless of you to confront a Prince of Hell, Sam. It could have ended with your death.”

“I… No, I don’t think so. But if I had known who he was… I’m not stupid, okay?”

“I never said you were.”

“You implied it.” Sam sighs after a while. “I’m sorry. It’s not your fault.”

If Alba was doing nothing but stare around with wet eyes, she finally gets a hold of herself.

“Alright. We’re not dead yet. And we’re not sitting here waiting for Dean to… to…. Save the day or whatever he’s trying out of _mortification_. Castiel? Can you go with him? Make sure he’s safe? Sam? It’s time we get to _real magic_. I was holding back this whole time for Dean’s sake, but since he decided to be stupid, then it’s up to us to find a way to get you home. You’re with me?”

“Of course I am,” Sam replies with half a smile, the best he can manage right this moment.

Castiel simply nods.

“I wanted to follow him, too, but I wasn’t sure if you needed me here. You splitting up was not in my plans. Since I know I can leave you two alone, I’m going to make sure Dean is safe.”

He then bows with elegance and leaves behind Dean. He doesn’t fly away, which is concerning, but he seems well enough to go after Dean’s stupid ideas.

Once they’re alone, Alba rolls up the sleeves of her dress.

“It’s time to get to work.”

 

 

“Dean, wait!”

Dean stops in his tracks and turns around with a surprised look, but it’s quickly replaced by relief when he sees Castiel rushing to his side. He seems to be well, even with the bruises, and he’s once again shining with angelic grace. His old-new old Castiel, back again.

“Thank you for stopping,” Castiel says. “It’s… unsettling to have to do without my powers. I’m still weak.”

“You’re doing just fine. What are you doing here? I thought you’d stay with Sam and Alba.”

“They manage on their own. But they weren’t at ease at the idea of leaving you alone. I offered…”

“.. Your help,” Dean finishes the sentence, a little heartbroken that it wasn’t Castiel’s idea. But Castiel is here, and that’s all that matters. And when he’s well, they can go back to Sam and Alba. “Ready to find a way to stop all this?”

“As much as I can.”

Dean starts walking again. He doesn’t really know where to go, so he set his sight on the nearest village, the one Sam and Alba were so happy to be close to. It would be easy to find why. Probably because _magic_.

“Where do you intent on starting your search?” Castiel asks, maybe more by politeness than real interest. But again, can an angel be polite?

“The nearest village. I think I can find something there.”

“Something that can help you travel forward in time?”

Dean stops walking again. He then rubs his chin. Then his head. He finally pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Tell me, Cas, what can travel through time except dark magic?”

“Angels.” The answer was simple, yet so complicated right this moment. “forgive my blasphemy, but Archangels are more likely to be able to.” He throws a glance at the sky, then goes back to Dean. “But you will never meet an Archangel.”

“Tough luck, Cas. We spoke to Gabriel, recently.” Dean shrugs. “That, and we met, uh, Michael, Raphael and…” He stops. How much can he tell this Castiel? How heavy will be the impact on the future? Maybe Sam’s right, and they’re in a loop, and nothing he’ll say can break this. But what if Sam’s wrong?

Castiel’s frown is so intense his brows are actually touching, and he looks like he doesn’t believe a single word Dean said, but at the same time he has to face the facts: the human is telling the truth.

“What happened, in the future?”

“Boy. So much. Don’t worry, you’ll live to see this. Back to our problem, please, Castiel. If we _need_ an Archangel to go back in time, and not actual magic, then we _have_ to trap one. Okay? I know that sounds bad for you. I get it. It’s, like, blasphemy for you. Or whatever. But we can’t stay here much longer. And if those feathered as… I mean, those guys can help us, then we have to try.”

“And how in heaven do you intend on capturing one of the most powerful weapons of God Himself?” Castiel asks, his tone has grown cold, though he doesn’t seem angry. Dean briefly wonders if he’s afraid.

“I know a ritual or two about summoning angels. As for keeping them in place…”

“Holy Oil,” Castiel guesses.

“Sounds about right. You know who here has a supply of Holy Oil?”

“Constantine.”

“Yes,” Dean proudly says. “and you know where we can find him?”

“If Bennett is here, and if Alba and Sam were adamant about settling here, then he is around. Are we done with your guessing game?”

“… Yes. Yes we are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Splitting up the team! What a goooood idea!   
> I wonder, what can go wrong?


	24. Magic and magic and holy shit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Left behind by Dean, Sam and Alba give their day to the beautiful art that is magic, and they will be remembered that relying on luck is a really *really* bad idea...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YOU WOULD NOT BELIEVE THE MONTHS I HAD!   
> But I'm FREEE of everything, and FINALLY I can finish this story! I'm truly sorry to keep you waiting for so long and for this story... But we're back in the game, with our favorite quatuor and our favorites villains!   
> It has been a lon time since I wrote, so please excuse me if that's weird or a little worse than before. And sorry if there's a few inconsistencies. Enjoy!

Not after an hour after Dean’s gone, Sam is already re-doing all the protections around the house. Not only he’s angel-proofing the place, but he’s also double demon-proofing it, afraid of what Azazel could do. To put it simple, the entire house is a large devil’s trap. Alba lets him do it, watching in silence as Sam writes the symbols he knows by heart.

“You must have done this so many times to remember all of them by sheer memory.”

“It’s a matter of life and death, where we come from,” Sam replies absentmindedly, completely focused on the drawings. “I’ll teach them to you, if you want, and you can defend yourself from demons and angels when we’re gone.”

“I like the idea,” Alba replies with a smile. “Thank you.”

Sam bows his head and gets up to look better at his work. The devil’s trap is perfect, there isn’t any place in the living room that isn’t covered.

“Alright! Unless your plan in magic is to summon a demon right in the living room, I say we’re safe for now.”

Alba giggles while taking her black book, which doesn’t look like a book at all for Sam. More like a stack of parchments and leather. Sam’s eyes go from the book to Alba’s face to the book again. The witch seems deep in her thoughts.

“Alba?”

“Mh? Oh, sorry. I was thinking.” She raises her eyes towards him. “My mentor was a born witch. A good one at that. But I’m not. Not like her, anyway.”

“You had a gift.”

“Yes. I’m gifted. But I’m not born with powers. It took a really _really_ long time for me to understand magic. But you have a gift, too, right? You and your brother. You’re gifted.”

Sam thinks about that. Maybe? Was it a gift, really? Was it useful?

“Well we’re… we have an _odd_ genealogy. And we’ve been… mh, how can I say that? Yeah well I wouldn’t call that a, uh, a _gift_?”

“You see this as a curse.”

“I do,” Sam simply replies, in a small voice. He then clears his throat. “But people don’t need to be gifted to learn about magic, and that’s the good part, right? So, let’s see what we can learn from both our times!”

Alba looks fondly at Sam. The man is full of energy, and even though his big brother slammed the door to save them by himself he’s still happy and enthusiastic about all this. Besides, Alba doesn’t doubt a second about those two, and their real abilities. There’s something about the Winchesters… Alba sits near the table again, and she opens her book wide on the wood to let Sam take a look at it.

“First of all, we need you to open yourself to magic. Open your third eye, If you want. It’s supposed to take a _year_ at minima, but I guess we can bend the rules a little? I will do what my mentor called _blue magic_ , that’s more like… uh… purple? That’s _Arcane_ magic.”

“… Blue magic is a drug, where I come from.”

“… Great,” Alba sighs. “Let’s stick to Arcane. That’s total control of magic flows, and understanding of magical energy and mysticism. That’s _not_ recommended on a daily basis, but I want us to be on the same page when it comes to magic, so I will speed the process up. It’s… not harmful? I never used that spell.”

Sam looks at her without a single word, then raises an eyebrow. Alba winces. That came out bad.

“It’s not dangerous! Maybe… that’ll hurt a little, because I will open your third eye to magic! But… You won’t die or transform into a monster!”

“Will you _please_ relax?” Sam asks with a chuckle, “I’m trusting you, alright? As long as I don’t wake up with a new set of arms in the morning.”

Alba laughs too, relieved. “I promise. No real third eye. It will simply adjust your energy in harmony with the magical energies around us. You will _feel_ magic. So you will be able to understand it better. That’s… It will be confusing, at first, so even when you’re back home you’ll have to continue your training, at least to learn how to differentiate which type of magical energy you’re feeling.”

“Alright. I’m ready when you are,” Sam says.

“Well, uh, ready,” Alba stutters, hoping she’s not doing a mistake.

It’s been a long time since she practiced magic this strong, since she had the opportunity to practice magic with someone at all. She breathes deeply, raises her hands and visualizes Sam’s energies around him. She was right, he and his brothers are gifted. She wonders which part of their family of hunters never mentioned they had a witch in their ranks. Alba stops doubting, concentrates on the spell and shouts it towards Sam as her own magical flow goes crashing against him. Sam falls backward and stays on the ground.

“Are you okay?!” Alba screams more than she asks.

“I’m alive,” Sam answers with a pained laugh, still on the ground. He rolls on his side and winces. “But that wasn’t enjoyable.”

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! Are you… Really? Are you okay?” Alba crouches near him and helps him sit down. “Do you feel anything… different?”

“I don’t know. Do I have a third eye!” He laughs again, and Alba is relieved he can do jokes. “It’s just…” Sam stops and blinks. “Ow… Alright. Something’s definitely happening here.”

Alba lets herself fall on the ground next to Sam as he rubs his face. “That’s some good news. At least it worked. Right?” She looks around, tries to spot the magical flows around. But with all the symbols it’s almost impossible. “The room is heavily charged with magic, with the symbols and runes. That’s what you probably feel. Even the least trained in magic can feel the air is charged. You probably felt it before the spell, you were just too unfocused on it to realize it.”

“You must be right. That’s a hell of a headache.”

“You’ll live through it.”

They stay on the ground a few more minutes, Alba leaving time for Sam to adjust to the new perceptions, and eventually they get up and go back to sit on the stools. The air is cold, the fire is barely enough to keep the heat in the house, but at least they’re not outside. Sam looks to the window and Alba can understand his concern.

“You’re brother is fine. There’s an angel looking after him. And he’s tough.”

“Like I said before, he’s not a lucky man. And I’ve…” Sam sighs, rubs his face again. “We’ve already been there. The arguing about Azazel and about demons, us splitting ways to try and find a way to fix everything.”

“How did it go?”

“We released one of the most powerful threat on earth and… Let’s not talk about that, I don’t want to bring bad luck.”

Alba doesn’t answer that, but she nods and lowers her head. It wasn’t the purpose of the question to bring back bad memories.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just wanted to know if you managed to make peace with your brother in time for you to get out of trouble.”

“I guess we can say that. There has been a misunderstanding, and we were both mislead by unfriendly people. But since here we only trust Castiel and you, what can go wrong?”

“Us destroying the house with a fireball,” Alba says with a shake of her head. “Let’s not waste time, and let’s not call for bad luck.” she pushes her book towards Sam, hoping to change the subject, and Sam complies politely as to not make her uncomfortable. Thoughtful of him, Alba thinks.

“Can you read this?”

“There’s symbols I’ve already seen, but I no, I can’t read that. Can you read them to me? I’ll translate it in…” Sam rummages through his bag, through his stuff he didn’t really touched since they left the farm _days_ ago. Weeks, maybe. Between the clothes and the weapons he eventually finds what he’s looking for: his notebook. It’s a little torn and dirty, it didn’t really appreciate the travel back in time and through the forests and villages, but unlike his phone it’s not useless. He finds a pen still working in the same bag, and puts everything on the table.

“Alright I’m ready. I’m still dizzy but ready. Translate your book for me, and I’ll write down everything that can be of use.”

“Remember,” Alba warns him. “Your black book is yours and yours only. It’s not for someone else’s eyes. In there, you will write everything that is linked to _your_ art. It’s personal.”

Sam nods. Alba then clears her throat and starts translating what her mentor taught her, slow enough to let Sam take notes in his strange book.

When the sun is high in the sky, barely visible through the thick layer of clouds, they put the books aside and take a moment to breathe.

“How’s your head?” Alba asks.

“Throbbing. But it gets better.”

“You’re resilient,” Alba says. “In a few days you won’t feel a thing anymore. But you’ll see, it’s still a little strange to feel magic around us, at the beginning.”

“It’s, yeah, it’s strange. Is it the warding?”

Alba gets up and goes near the door, she then invites Sam to follow her.

“First real spell I’m going to teach you, it’s how to detect magic in your environment. It sounds silly, but it’s really important if you want to survive. Some traps are deadly, and some disease are easily preventable or curable if you know what type of magic this is.”

Sam nods and stands near her as she starts chanting a spell…

 

The sun disappears quickly behind the trees and the hills, and soon enough the house is shrouded in darkness. The snow has stopped falling, and silence surrounds the place like a cotton blanket. A _cold_ blanket, Sam thinks, but it’s more comfortable than the first hours of the day. That, and he actually stopped being terrified out of his mind by his confrontation with Azazel. Yes, their worst enemy is still out there, looking for them. And Dean and Castiel are alone in the darkness of the woods. But it’s fine. They survived worse. Sam closes his notepad with a sigh and rubs his eyes, tired by the day of magical training and the lack of sleep. And the headache.

Alba opens the door of the living room with a loud bang, her face pale. She was changing herself in the bedroom, but she seems to have stopped in the middle to run back to Sam. He gets up and grabs his gun.

“What’s happening?!”

“That’s Beatrice. And she’s not alone. I’m not sure the protections will hold long enough against that.”

“Oh.” With caution, Sam creeps near the window, and he looks through the planks they put against the openings to protect themselves. “Alright. Think fast. What can we do?”

“Apart from calling Castiel and get out of here by teleportation?”

“No that’s a bad idea. That would put both Castiel and Dean in danger along with us. And we don’t know if they have weapons against angels. And we’re not sure Castiel can fly us out of here with his injuries.”

“That sounds _really bad_ ,” Alba gasps. “So… we fight?”

“How many of them are witches? How many are demons?”

Alba looks as well by the window. For the moment, no one outside is moving. But by the lack of capes and heavy clothing, they don’t seem to fear the cold.

“… demonic witches?”

“Perfect,” Sam sighs. “That means Azazel. Maybe he saw through my lie?”

“You lied to a _Prince of Hell_??”

“What could I do?!” With a groan, Sam immediately gets a hold of his stuff and starts throwing his phone and watch and everything related to his world in the fire. With Alba’s powder and a spell, he increases the intensity of the flames, to leave nothing behind. Alba helps him.

“What for?”

“We won’t get out of there, we both know it. Not without a fight. And I don’t want a demon to have access to futuristic stuff. _That_ would change the future.”

Alba looks at the door without saying a word. He’s right. For the moment they didn’t try to enter, maybe the protections are enough to hold them off. But they’re trapped. If they want to get out of this mess, they will have to fight. Or…

“Wait. So that’s the Prince of Hell outside?”

“… Maybe,” Sam replies with uncertainty. “Why?”

“And Princes of Hell are… what, enemies with the angels?”

“… Yes? I don’t see what…”

“Maybe that’s your way out. For you and your brother. We have two of the most powerful creatures right at our door. The angels are watching over you, and if the demons wanted us dead, we would be dead already. Maybe we can get out of this alive _and_ find a way back to the future?”

“That’s a really really stupid plan, Alba.”

“What else can we do? Get ourselves killed by fighting back the demons? Asking help from the angels other than Castiel?”

Sam thinks about it for a while. Eventually he sighs loudly. Alba smiles reassuringly at him.

“Let’s see how many of these demons we can bring down before losing this fight. And once we’re out of there, whether we’re tied up or not, we can think this through.”

“I hate how your plans sound exactly like Dean’s. The bad ones.”

“You boy have a terrible effect on my sweet personality,” Alba scolds him while grabbing her knife and her powder.

The first hit on the door make the house tremble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alba! Sam! Noooo don't be stupids!   
> Be prepared for... a cliffhanger! The next one is about Castiel and Dean huhuhuhu  
> See you at the next chapter!


	25. Surrounded by assholes and awkwardness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel and Dean track down Constantine, and it's not without a feathery douchebag in their way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I WILL re-read and correct this fanfic, I PROMISE.  
> But it will not be done today.   
> For now, I will give you THIS *gestures at the chapter* and I will finish this fanfic, Even if I DIE trying to do so.   
> Enjoy!

Dean looks at the village in front of them, the one they precisely investigated for Gabriel’s case. He still could only half believe Sam and Alba brought them right to Constantine just hours after they’ve been attacked by the man. From up there, between the trees, the village looks very peaceful, not representative of the superstitious caution of its inhabitants. Dean would have expected bird nailed on the doors, or torches around the entrances. But no. Just a few little early age houses, close to each other and spreading from around the church, not like the American way where everything is straight lines and parallel roads.

“Who would have thought medieval villages were this cute?”

Castiel turns to look at Dean with a quizzical look.

“I’m sorry?”

“No,” Dean shrugs, “no, nothing. I was just… you know, talking out loud. Let’s go?”

After another confused stare, Castiel nods and follows Dean as he goes right to the village. If Constantine is in there, they’ll find him. He’s not worried about that. What upsets him the most, however, is the greetings this fanatic will reserve them. But who else can they trust with Holy Oil in this area? Especially with Castiel grounded for the time being.

“Something is upsetting you. Would you rather go back?”

“Uh, no. That’s not it. That’s just… you know? What if he’s not open to discussion? What if he attacks us?”

“Then we’ll kill him.”

“And attract Azazel’s attention? Besides, I’m not sure he’s running around with his oil supply straddled to his horse. We need him alive, right?”

Castiel thinks about it as they walk pass the houses and shops, silent for most of the time. For a moment Dean thinks maybe Castiel decided not to answer him, or that the question is not a real one. But when they arrive in front of the church, Castiel stops Dean and makes him turn towards him.

“Everything will go according to plan. Do no worry yourself for such petty matter as this one.”

“… I know it’s supposed to make me feel better, Cas, and thanks. But you just sounds like an evil overlord.”

“I’m not–”

“You sure sound like one. Let’s go.” Dean opens the door of the church and steps inside in silence.

This is nothing like the American churches Dean saw and visited. Not even close to the most lost ones. The very fact that there’s nothing more than a few statuettes in wood and no large windows, almost no candles… The place looks more poor than ever. Dean raises his eyebrows in surprise.

“I thought this was _Constantine’s_ church. What the hell?”

“Constantine is known for his many travels. And he was at Rome before moving here. The northern parts of this realm is still struggling with the old ways, and there’s not many coins to give to church. For now. It will change in a few years. It will be better.”

“Yeah, better for who?” Dean asks. Before Castiel can answer an old man approaches.

“Welcome to our church, traveler. I see you are not from our parish, but all are welcome in the House of God. What can I do for you?”

“Yeah, eh, hi, we’re looking for Constantine. Do you know where he is?”

The old man looks surprised, and quickly after suspicion scrunches up his face.

“May I ask why?”

Castiel opens his mouth to answer, and he’s quickly dismissed by Dean who interrupts him before any harm can be done to their cause.

“I heard he’s hunting down anything that’s, you know, _not_ _holy_ , and I want to help him.” He tries to sound as honest as possible.

“I am afraid that won’t be possible…”

“He’s not here, isn’t he?” Castiel suddenly says as he looks around him. “He left today, he followed someone who claimed to be in need of help.” As the old man doesn’t answers, Castiel frowns. “You should not lie in the House of God.”

The priest looks suddenly afraid. Dean can relate, angels are the Inquisition. He steps in and tries to liften up the mood a little.

“Alright, thank you for your help, godspeed, blah blah.” He then takes Castiel by his arm and invites him to follow as he leaves the little church. “What the hell, Cas?”

“There’s is no Hell…”

“ _That’s an expression_ , why did you decide to suddenly attack the guy?”

Castiel looks more and more confused, and Dean wonders if he’s going to get angry and blast him on the spot. But now, Castiel frowns, and squints.

“He was lying to us, hiding the truth in hope that we could not find Constantine. And you let him do it?”

“YES, that’s not a crime to be cautious about someone’s location, especially if you care about this someone! He wasn’t… he wasn’t trying to do us _harm_ he was trying to protect Constantine! Or are you punishing this as well?”

This time Castiel says nothing. A now permanent frown on his graceful face, he turns on his heels and gets away from the church, then the houses. And Dean follows him in silence as they pass the village to go further in the land. Dean in confident that even with a pout, Castiel will look for Constantine. After a few hours of walk, finally Dean talks again.

“So who could have called Constantine for help? If they know the man then they must be not far from here, right? Or… someone recommended him? I… I have no idea.” He has no idea.

How do people exchange and communicate here? More than half of the population doesn’t know how to read, and even more so can’t use paper for such… simple matter like ‘ _uh I have ghost problem do u know someone? Lol_ ’. So how do they do it?

“Cas? Cas? Castiel? How do they exchange?”

“They send someone. A messenger. Whoever called for Constantine had enough riches to do it. Otherwise Constantine goes where he pleases. Unless…” Castiel stops. The pout has left place for another confused stare. He turns towards Dean. “Could that be Azazel who sent Constantine away from us so we couldn’t see him?”

“How would he know what we’re doing? Last we saw him, Constantine wanted us dead. So that would be way more useful for Azazel to send him _close_ to us so he can kill us.”

“Azazel doesn’t want you dead. If he wanted you dead, you’d be dead.”

“Thanks for the pep-talk. Anyway, it’s not Azazel, that I’m sure of it. So who?”

Castiel hesitates. “… Heaven? You’re planning on kidnapping an Angel, Dean. An _Archangel_ , nothing less.”

“They can’t know that!” Dean says with a quick laugh that dies instantly. “They can’t know that. Right?”

It’s not Castiel who answers.

“Who do you think you are, to hide things from Heaven even though you are the most supervised human in the entire area?” And Dean recognizes the voice. Crap. Great. Fantastic.

Dean turns on his heels and faces the newcomer. Raziel looks at him with fire in his eyes, his oh-so condescending face replaced by an expression of outrage and disdain. Angels are the smuggest bastards Dean has ever seen.

“Wait for it, baby,” Dean said with a smug tone, to match Raziel’s, “Someday you’ll remember my name by heart.”

“Dean, you shouldn’t…” Castiel starts, but he’s interrupted by a gesture of Raziel’s hand.

“I sent Constantine away because we don’t want you dead yet. And most of all we don’t want you to give other humans the… spell you used to summon us.” A quick glance towards Castiel, Dean knows what he’s talking about. “We learnt that you were followed by Azazel. Though it is unfortunate, You brought this misery on yourself. I will just ask you to leave Castiel away from all this.”

“Yeah, so you can torture him again? Make him forget?”

Raziel’s lips become a thin line on his pale face, and his eyes start glowing blue. Before he can do anything Castiel stands between them.

“Raziel, don’t.”

“So once again you say _no_ to your brother just to save a mere human’s life? I don’t understand, Castiel. What is it in this human that is so special that you would die for him?”

“We need to see Constantine, Raziel. We need to. It’s not just _humans_ that are in danger, with a Prince of Hell roaming mortal Earth. Everything our father created, from the insignificant insect to the angels themselves. We are _all_ in danger. What if Azazel tries to find his master?”

Raziel stays silent, looking at Castiel with an indecipherable look on his face. Maybe he hasn’t thought about that. Dean, hopeful, steps in the discussion.

“We need to go back to our time. We think Constantine may help us. Once we’re gone you won’t have to worry about us before another millennial or so. Now, I get it, I get it, you don’t want to help, you can’t help, you don’t see why you _should_ help us. But at least _please_ , please don’t get in the way.” He doesn’t add ‘we don’t want to kill you’, but the sentence is heard loud and clear.

Raziel looks at him in disgust, but he turns towards Castiel.

“Castiel, it was your duty to make sure they don’t do anything foolish. And though you have been stripped from this mission, you persist in helping them. Why?”

“Because I have faith in our Father’s creation,” Castiel simply replies. “Please let us talk to Constantine. Heaven doesn’t need to get involved in all of this, and you know it. We all know it, for none of the Holy Souls given to our care are in danger.”

“You seem sure of yourself.”

“The very fact that Raphael or Michael hasn’t appeared yet to strike down the Winchester on the spot give me the idea that, Raziel, something bigger is on preparation. I think we, angels, are being kept from something.”

And Dean is surprised. Castiel starts doubting Heaven. Is it because of the torture, the Prince of Hell, or because Castiel feels there’s something not right in all of this? Has Michael already prepared the twenty-first century apocalypse? Raziel seems to be as confused as Dean.

“You doubt our leaders?”

“I want to stop Azazel. That is all. Nothing more.”

Raziel hesitates. He thinks for a while, and sighs.

“Constantine is further away to the South. Maybe four hour of walk, less by horse.”

“Thank you, brother,” Castiel says with relief. “We won’t be a threat to heaven.”

Dean can’t know that for sure.

“Oh I am worried for Heaven,” Raziel replies. “But there are things I don’t understand. So I will keep watch until I do… Or until Michael decides you’re not worth all the trouble.” Saying this he disappears with the tell-tale _woosh_ of his wings.

Dean sighs. Angels are incomprehensible assholes. Castiel looks at the sky a few more minutes, even when they have to get moving as quick as possible, and Dean doesn’t prevent him from doing so. Castiel’s heart is and will always be struggling between Heaven and mankind.

As they make their way to Constantine’s location, Dean thinks over and over about how not to get killed by the fanatic and his minions. Killing, he can do. But talking? Nuh-uh, Dean isn’t really in his comfort zone. And he can’t ask that to Castiel. Because he’s worse at engaging in a civil conversation. And so it happens. Dean’s brain stops working. He has no idea about anything, and he misses his world, and his baby, and his brother not mingling with magic and Azazel being dead and… With a groan of frustration, Dean steps into a clearance, ignoring Castiel’s warning. He fins himself face to face with Constantine.

“Dean!” Castiel shouts.

“Shit!” Dean replies.

All the soldiers draw their weapons, as Constantine slowly stands up from his stool.

“Look who is here. God must be on my side today.”

“We’re not here to fight,” Dean tries, his hands in front of him in a non-threatening way. “We’re here to talk, and you might want to listen.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You've got a friend in me ♪   
> Jokes apart, I think we can all agree that Dean is doing great. Yeah, good job handling all this angels and bushes and trees and fanatics. Good for you, buddy!   
> NOW GO SAVE YOUR BROTHER!   
> He can't hear me. We're doomed.


	26. What are you, now?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alba and Sam have lost against the demons and death would have been a sweet resolution for their problems, but Azazel have other plans...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took WELL TOO LONG to write. I am so sorry for this delay, hihihihuhuhuhihi hum.... Let's focus on the good part here: it's finally here!   
> Enjoy!

Alba wakes with a start and looks around her with a wince muffled by a gag. They’re not in the house anymore, but it’s inside large walls if she believes the warm and obscurity. As for the rest… Alba tries to pull against her restraints. Chains. She’s seated on the floor, tied up with chains with her hands behind her back.

“Alba?” Sam’s voice echoes right behind her, making her startle in surprise. “Finally, you’re awake! I was worrying.” She tries to answer him, but the gag prevents her from doing so. So she turns a little to be right next to Sam, so she can see him if she turns her head? “No use, you’re a witch, so they didn’t take any chance. You kicked their asses, back in the house.” He stays silent for a moment. “Listen, hey, uh, I’m sorry about this… All this. Your home, your friends… possibly your life. We never wanted that. We just happen to be very unlucky at keeping our friends alive.”

That’s reassuring, Alba thinks. At least he said they’re friends, so there’s that. Alba tries to free herself again, but nothing works. She chews on her gag. Useless, but time-passing.

“Where’s Azazel?” Sam eventually asks.

Alba shrugs. They can barely see so… if there’s someone else in the room, they’re inhumanly motionless. Alba closes her eyes and try to think about a spell she doesn’t need her hands or voice for. She decides for a good old astral projection. Her body falls against Sam and she’s standing in the room, free of her movements. In the astral world, the room is well-lit from the otherworld light, and she examines everything she can while they’re alone. There’s no tools for torture, she doesn’t know if that’s a good thing or if demons don’t simply need them. But there’s no one… and no door. She stands near Sam and tries to contact him with a good old clear-audience.

“ _Sam, can you hear me?_ ”

“Ah! Yes? Uh, Yes!”

“ _Alright. There’s nothing useful in there. We’re alone. But… no doors. Why no doors?_ ”

“Uh…  I guess that’s because demons don’t need doors. They teleport. So we can’t leave even if we manage to break our restraints.

“ _I don’t know if that’s stupid or brilliant_ ,” Alba sighs. “ _I’m going out. I’m coming back as soon as possible._ ”

“Be careful, alright?”

Alba approaches one of the walls and realizes quickly she can pass through some of them. But this place is very low in the energetic plan. So low, in fact, she would think they’re gone straight to the _bad_ plans. How does this religion call it? Hell. Yes. Like Prince of Hell. Alba inhales sharply and goes through the wall. She stops in her tracks when every demon turns towards her as she does so.

“What the heck?” one of the demons says as he drops his gourd of alcohol, and the smell spreads in the entire room so strongly Alba wrinkles her nose.

How could she know the demons had Astral Perception? She should have asked Sam. Stupid her. One of the demons tries to stop her but she simply phases through his vessel, going out with a strong need to retch. She has seen the demon’s true face, and _oh wow_ she would have been glad to never know. With a few steps on the side she avoids another demon and goes right for the wall to reach for her body. And she finds herself unable to move.

Alba squeaks in fear, and she hears a laugh behind her. She turns her head to see Azazel

“Look at that lost little mouse. What happened, witch? You thought it was safe to leave your prison?” he laughs again and hits her…

and Alba is actually hurt.

She looks at him in bewilderment and horror. He seems to take pleasure in that.

“You know I could kill your body, cut that pretty silver thread of yours and look at you becoming a ghost in a few seconds. What do you think about that?”

Alba shakes her head vividly. That wouldn’t be pleasant. No sir. But Azazel disappears, and Alba is free of her movement. She relishes the moment a few seconds… then runs for the wall. Her body is in danger! Jumping through the thick wall of stones, Alba stops in her tracks to look with horror as Azazel examines her unconscious material form, holding her head by her hair.

“Your friend is a powerful witch,” she hears him say aloud. “I am actually impressed. Still, she’s not strong enough to defeat me.” He then chuckles and lets go of her hair. “I will have everything I want from you two.”

“Don’t touch her,” Sam threatens him.

“Or what? You’re going to stop me? Fight me with your little fists, _exorcise_ me with your little prayers? You are smarter than that, Winchester.”

Alba frowns and steps closer to her body but still not at an arm’s reach from Azazel.

“ _What do you want_?” she asks. “ _What does a Prince of Hell want from earth?_ ”

“Everything, my dear. Everything that earth own will be between our hands. And Hell will be extended from the bottom of oblivion to the holy gates of Heaven.”

“But first you need your king,” Sam suddenly says. Alba and Azazel turn towards him with surprise.

“I knew you were more aware than you looked!” Azazel says with a brief laugh. “Let’s make a deal: You tell me everything and that pretty thing doesn’t have to die slowly and painfully. Fail to tell me the truth, and I will kill her the most horrible way. Then I will use you to compel your dear brother to tell me the truth the same way.”

“You can’t read mind?” Sam looks surprised. Azazel doesn’t answer that, but he doesn’t look happy about it.

Alba grits her teeth as Azazel frees her body of the gag and places his hand on her forehead, looking straight at her spiritual form, and suddenly the young witch is pulled to her body she regains with violence. Jerking back, Alba hurts herself with the restraints, but she doesn’t have time to assess the situation as her whole body starts to shiver, and her lungs slowly deteriorate until she can barely breathe. She can _feel_ her organs shrinking to a point when there’s not a part of her body that’s not hurting. Unable to scream, Alba only drowns on the blood accumulating in her throat as the tries to gasp for air.

“Stop!” Sam yells, “Stop it, she has nothing to do with this!!”

Azazel takes a step back, but Alba’s suffering doesn’t end. Instead it only increases.

“Do the angels really protect you?” Azazel asks calmly, completely disinterested in Alba.

“NO!”

Alba can breathe again. The pain is gone. She lets her head fall down to her chest and starts sobbing uncontrollably, both relieved to be alive and afraid that her body could hurt again.

Azazel is now entirely focused on Sam.

“I should have guessed you were more likely to bear pain for yourself more than for others. All these heroes.” Azazel chuckles.

 

Sam throws a worried glance at Alba who seems about to pass out. _Of course_ Azazel would try and get intel from him by torturing someone else. Thinking about all the possibilities, Sam finds his thoughts going back in circles to the same idea: they’re in a time loop. Everything they do here in the past will eventually have consequence in the future, in their lives. Right? That theory has been proved at least once, when their grandfather saved their lives in front of Abaddon. Whatever he says, nothing could change the future. Either way his parents are going to die because of Azazel, Dean will kill him, and Lucifer will be free.

“So,” Azazel casually says, and once again Alba starts to choke, “If you’re not protected by the angels, why are you still alive?”

“We don’t _know_! Alright?? We have no idea, and they won’t talk to us!”

“Talking with angels, how can you be so hopeful? Anyway. Why are you here?”

“It was an accident! Stop hurting her!”

Alba breathes and sobs again. Azazel looks at him with surprise.

“An accident?”

“Yes. A spell gone _wrong_. Witchcraft!”

This time Azazel laughs, a real, eerie, _mean_ laugh. “Wow, you two are something special! An accident? You really expect me to believe that?”

“You’ll have to. It’s the truth.” Sam struggles a little against the restraints. “I can’t tell you anything else. We’re simply trying to go back home.”

“And yet you know about angels, demons, my own name and my plan. That can’t be a coincidence.”

“Nothing’s a coincidence.”

The chains painfully bite in Sam’s flesh as he tries to free his arms. There must be blood on his wrists, but the chain is becoming more and more slippery. Sam stays focused on Azazel, and he keeps a straight face as he slowly frees himself.

“Yes, I can see that. But, with the help of our little friend here, you will tell me everything, right?”

“Leave her alone,” Sam growls, and he tries to sound intimidating but Azazel doesn’t seem to care. “You got what you want. Go look for your master.”

“And leave you here to try and escape? Not a chance! Besides, I’m sure you know where my king is.”

“I… No, I have no idea,” Sam says. And to his own surprise he’s telling the truth. Now where would that church exactly _be_ in this day and age?

Azazel doesn’t seem very pleased with the answer. Once again Alba screams in pain. “I don’t believe you,” Azazel then states with a matter-of-fact tone. “You must have some clues, something to tell me.”

But as Sam is about to reply, his chains slip from his bloody wrist, and though he manages to catch them before they fall heavily on the ground Azazel frowns. Oh, he’s _boned_. Sam tries to keep a straight face. Alba turns her head towards him, pale and confused.

“I can’t believe it,” Azazel eventually says. “Did you just free yourself?”

Sam doesn’t answer. That’s bad. That’s a very very bad situation. Alba struggles too, trying to get rid of her chains too, and Azazel slaps her across the face with violence. She falls on the ground and this time Sam gets up to go to her and make sure she’s alright. Against all odds Azazel doesn’t prevent him from doing so.

“Humans and their sentimental bonds. You _know_ it’s going to be your undoing, right?”

 _You couldn’t be more right_ , Sam bitterly thinks. But he protects Alba nonetheless.

“I told you everything I could. So either you kill us or set us free. There’s nothing more you’ll have from us.”

Azazel frowns once again. He grabs Sam by the throat and forces him to stand up, and as he stares at him face to face he growls. “I am the one who decides what to do with y…” He stops and suddenly the terrifying demon looks confused. “Wait a minute.”

Sam shudders with disgust when Azazel closes the distance between them to sniff at his neck. He tries to free himself but to no use, the demon’s grip is unbreakable. Eventually Azazel takes a step back and releases the pressures around Sam’s throat.

“Well well. What _are you_ now?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not a happy chapter, but it's the beginning of the end of the fanfic! We're almost there, weeeee!  
> The next chapter is about Dean and Cas and their own problems, because no one deserves a break here!


	27. John, 14:1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Castiel meet with Constantine, hoping the fanatic is ready to listen.  
> Because if not, they're in trouble...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woohoo! Another chapter! I wrote it in one go, I'm proud of meee

Though they are surrounded by weapons and unable to defend themselves without raising suspicions, Dean and Castiel are offered stools to sit. Dean counts that as a win. Castiel makes himself scarce, radiating with contempt but also pity for those who dare threaten him. He doesn’t kill anyone, though. Dean counts that as a win too.

Constantine eyes them warily. He seems more angry than afraid, and he cuts to the chase quickly.

“You have some _nerves_ to come here, heathens. You heretics should be on a stake, and yet _here I am_. Listening to you. It _has_ to be important, or else…”

“Yes, it is, it’s important,” Dean interrupts him. “It’s a matter of life and death for _everyone_ including you and your men. Now if you want to not die, let’s help each other.”

“Why would I trust you? Why should I trust creatures of the Devil?”

“You already did when you let Bennett at your side,” Dean snaps back.

Oh darn. He didn’t want to say this like that. He clears his throat as Constantine stares at them in disbelief.

“How dare you?” he says, livid. “By Heaven, I should have you killed!”

“But you will not!” Castiel thunders, rising from his stool. He ignores the weapons and deploys his wings, magnificent shadows in the light of the fire. “Heaven is not concerned of your fate for you humans have been blessed by _free will_ , the ability to rise from the burden of mortal flesh, to do grand deeds despite your mere condition of _animals_. Behold! For today, you are blessed by the sight of an Angel of the Lord, and his help against a greater threat! You have been blinded and now is the time to open your eyes! ‘Do not let your hearts be troubled. You believe in God; believe also in me.’ John, 14:1.”

Constantine stands motionless for a while, looking at Castiel like he sees the messiah himself. He sinks on his knees and Dean groans while rolling his eyes in annoyance.

“Forgive your humble servant,” Constantine babbles, “We were ignorant of—”

“Alright alright,” Dean says. “Up. Get up. We need your help.”

Constantine gets up, taken aback. “My help? Oh, yes, Bennett. But he’s a wise man, pious and dedicated.”

“Yeah well, he _was_ , maybe, but now he’s– he’s Azazel, and trust me you don’t want anything to do with this demon. For real. Demons as powerful as him can enter churches, they don’t fear God, holy water and crosses don’t hurt them. A devil’s trap does the job, at least for a while, but that’s it.”

“… Then _why_ do you need my help?”

“For another matter, actually.”

Constantine seems lost. He dismisses his soldiers and walks further from camp, and Dean can see he’s still limping. Castiel and he exchange a glance, and Castiel nods before offering his hand to Constantine.

“Allow me to help.” He then heals Constantine’s leg, and Dean can’t help but think how beautiful this angel is when he focuses on helping a human.

Castiel turns to him with a confused frown. Crap. Dean tries to think about something else like… like he hopes Sam and Alba are behaving and waiting for them. About how they have to hurry to go home. About real food, real clothes, about his Castiel– no. About Baby, about bacon. Anything but this Castiel’s blue gaze on him.

“I am most grateful and honored of your help. Now explain to me what is it that Heaven needs of me.”

“Well,” Dean cringes, thinking about how deep in trouble Castiel is from having pulled this trick, “we need holy oil. A good amount of holy oil.”

“Really? What for? Ah, it is not my place to ask.”

Oooh yes that feels good. Dean smiles smugly, elbowing Castiel before gratifying him with a thumb up. Castiel doesn’t understand. Of course. Dean gives up and turns to Constantine who seems lost in his thoughts.

“A man, a messenger asked me to leave the place. He told me about some village in the north needing my help to spread the Lord’s words. But I… I guess he simply wanted me out of the way, maybe he has been sent by Bennett to keep me out of my home, to do harm to my people. Oh, what a fool I was. We must go back to the castle, it is where I keep the Holy Oil gracefully gifted by Constantinople.”

“… Is that where your name comes from?” Dean can’t help but ask.

“Of course,” Constantine replies with disdain as if it was obvious. “Now if you allow us, we will go back to the castle at night, since it’s an urgent matter. You will ride horses, I won’t have you walk along.” Two of Constantine’s men bow and go to get the horses. As the lord takes the reins of his mount, Castiel and Dean are given two horses.

It’s not that Dean doesn’t know how to ride. Of course he does he’s _American_ , but he’s never… he’s not at ease on a living creature. But he doesn’t want to look stupid, especially not in front of Castiel and Constantine, so he hops on the horse and steadies himself as stealthily as he can. Now healed, Constantine gets on the saddle with grace and force of habit, and Castiel simply stares at the beast with empty eyes.

“Though I am not your master, I will ride you to Constantine’s castle. Do not make this difficult for both of us.”

“… Something’s wrong, Cas?”

“Of course not. I am simply… not used to ride a horse. I am not used to any kind of transportation.”

“Yeah well it’ll pass. Now get your feathery butt on the saddle and let’s get going, I’m not happy at the idea of leaving Alba and Sam alone for so long.” He lowers his voice so only Castiel can hear him. “I’m sure she’s trying to teach him magic or something.”

“Of course. They were clear from the beginning. But Alba is not a bad person, Dean. She will do what is best for you both.”

“It’s not in Sam’s interest to learn how to do magic, Cas,” Dean sighs. “Sam’s enough problem already.”

“Everything is going to be fine, Dean. I promise.”

Dean looks at Castiel like he said he’s doing weed to pass time. But he eventually nods and looks straight at the road Constantine is leading. Yeah, everything is going to be okay in the end.

 

The road back took a little more than three hours indeed, with Constantine’s men keeping up a good pace even though some are horseless. By the time they arrive it’s already night as Constantine had predicted, and the cold is enough for Dean to shiver under his thick layers of clothes. When they enter the castle it is still cold, but the wind and the worst of winter is trapped outside. Constantine dismisses his men and walks confidently through the stone walls.

The castle looks nothing like Dean is used to in movies and pictures he had back in his time. It’s small, it’s not thick walls and gigantic towers. First of all it’s _square_. And it’s more… Gallo-Roman, or maybe an oppidum like the one Sam was rambling about when they hunted a harpy. Yes that’s the word. Maybe Sam would know more about that. He looks around as Constantine guides them to a small room where a lot of books are stacked. Castiel looks at the books with appreciation. Dean thinks maybe he missed something, and maybe Castiel _loves_ reading human literature. He keeps that in mind. They take the stairs to an underground cellar.

Dean faces the most important stock of holy oil he has ever seen.

He gasps, “You gotta be kidding me.”

“What? There’s not a lot, I’m afraid. But I hope there’s enough for you to resume your plans.”

“Wh– of course there is! I thought we were talking, like, two or three jars but… We only need two or three jars, nothing more.”

“Then I’d be happy to provide.”

Constantine goes to fetch servants to bring the oil back, but Dean is having none of it. He takes the jars himself. Castiel helps him carry it to the main room. While Dean counts the amount of oil and tries to remember the invocation spell, Constantine approaches with… deference? Dean clears his throat.

“Uh, yes?”

“The Angel of the Lord told us you didn’t have anything to eat since yesterday evening. Would you like to share my table for this diner?”

“Oh, well…” Dean looks around himself, wondering what the hell is happening. But Constantine’s right. He’s _starving_. So he nods and smiles a little. “I’d like that, thank you.”

And the meal they are served is _rich_ , richer than what Beatrice served them. Dean eats with appetite while Castiel reads seated next to him. They’re only three in the dining room so it’s silent and comfortable.

“Tell me,” Constantine says as he sips wine, “Where are your brother and the girl accompanying you? Surely it must have been difficult to travel without them.”

“Oh, I’m… Yes, I’m worried about them. But they’re adults, they can defend themselves. They’re home, in our home.”

“So you settled, then? Why did you attack the monastery?”

“Oh.” Dean puts his knife down and sighs. “We didn’t _attack_ the monastery. Not really. We have been attacked by a ghost, there. And then a demon, I don’t know how he arrived there. That’s when Castiel appeared. The monks got scared and it all had been a fuck… a misunderstanding. Yeah. What about you? Why did _you_ attack the farmers?”

“Because Bennett convinced me they were related to the attacks in the village. They were afar from it, yet part of the community. And when you arrived, a young boy got murdered. But… I supposed I have been mislead by the thing that took hold of my assistant. What are you going to do about it?”

“Not a damn thing,” Dean answers immediately. “Don’t get me wrong, I would _love_ to kick that bastard in the ass. But I’m… well, I’m powerless against Azazel. Right now I’m powerless. So either the angels decide it’s time to act, or you have to leave this place and start somewhere else. That won’t protect you from Azazel but… I mean if he wanted to kill you, you’d be dead.”

Before Constantine can reply, a man enters the room in hurry, panting.

“My lord! There’s a fire in the forest, my lord!”

“A fire? At this time of the year?”

Dean gets up immediately “Where in the forest?!”

“The northern part of the village! Maybe an hour of walk, nothing more…”

Castiel closes the book and gets up. “It’s the house, Dean. We have to go.”

Constantine leaves his meal as well. “Let’s ready the horses. What else do you need?”

“Uh… uh… Charcoal, the oil, the… what kind of herbs do you have?”

 

When they arrive at the house, there’s nothing more but burned wood and dead bodies. Fortunately not Sam’s or Alba’s. That doesn’t ease Dean’s panic, and he jumps off the horse to run into the ruins and look for clues, for _something_ that will tell him his brother is safe.

“There has been a demonic attack,” Castiel states. “Those were witches, possessed witches.”

“Tell me you know where Sam and Alba are,” Dean almost shouts.

“… I am sorry. It is impossible for me to find them in my state. Maybe if we ask Gabriel…”

“We don’t have time to ask Gabriel, Cas! Gabriel does whatever he wants, he’s not _listening_ to us!” Dean glances an apologetic look at a shocked Constantine. “We’re on our own. I… We have to find them, if that’s Azazel behind this, we… I…”

“I’m sure they are alive, Dean,” Castiel tries to ease Dean’s fears, but it’s not working.

“Azazel must NOT know who Sam is!” Dean suddenly shouts while kicking a wood plank out of anger.

And then he realizes. He realizes that whatever just happened… triggered the twenty-first century’s apocalypse as they know it. They _are_ in a loop.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean blurts out in English.

“Dean, are you okay?”

“No.” He turns around and grabs the horse’s bridle. “We have to– _urgh_.”

 

Dean barely hears Castiel shouting his name as he falls on his knees, and he barely sees the horse panicking next to him, almost crushing him in its fear. All he can think about is the flash before his eyes, the vision of a cell made of stones, no door no windows. There’s bodies, a skeleton in the corner. And the smell… Blood.

Dean is brought back to reality in Castiel’s arms, not touching the ground and coughing bile.

“What? Put me down, dammit! Ow… my head, what happened?”

“You passed out,” Castiel states with concern in his voice. “You were saying something then you passed out.”

“I didn’t… did I?” Oh, the vision! “Cas, put me down, I saw something! I saw a room! A room made of stones, but there wasn’t any door nor window!... What? What the hell?”

“No swearing!” This time it’s Constantine. “What are you talking about?”

“I don’t know, okay? But I had a vision, and that was a room with no door, no window, and bodies inside!... So that could be anywhere!”

“Not exactly,” Constantine states, still on his horse. His men are still cleaning the place and putting out the fire. “Can you tell me about the walls?”

“They… they were plain, I guess. But, uh… It looked like the walls were… colored? Like… grey but not _stone grey_ , more like… pale grey?”

“Then I know what you are referring to. It’s probably Lady Argentia’s sepulcher. She was a barbarian naturalized as a roman citizen. She helped overthrow the occidental Roman Empire. Later it has been known she was a witch and did this to gain the favors of a pagan night goddess. So she had been buried alive in a sepulcher not far from here, in a land sacred by priest and protected against dark magic.”

“That’s… enlightening, I guess? Do you know where her sepulcher is?”

“Yes. I can take you to it.”

“Then proceed,” Castiel commands as he hops on his horse and makes a turn around to leave the place.

Constantine calls his men and Dean takes his mount back. If Sam’s there, then… then maybe they can arrive in time. Even if _Sam_ contacting him with his powers is nothing good. Maybe it was Alba? Oh, he hopes it’s Alba.

 

The sepulcher is very close to the village, at the foot of a hill where a monastery (another!) is perched. Nothing to distinguish the tomb as one of a lady, nothing to remember her by. Castiel breaks the stone plate and inside is a staircase Dean takes carefully.

“You should draw your weapons… Oh, and do you have holy water? Good. We’re not alone in there. Cas? You good for a fight?”

“Of course I am. They are mere demons. I am an Angel of the L—”

“Ok good you seem fine.”

They take the stairs to a dark corridor and before Dean can make it to the last step an arrow flies to his head. Castiel stops it with his hand and throws it to the ground.

“The demons are here!” the angel shouts.

Constantine’s soldiers throw a barrel of something at the end of the stairs and it breaks easily under the rock. A torch flies above Dean and suddenly everything is lightened by fire. They can see the enemy. Castiel steps into the fire without fearing it and deploys his wings in a mighty smite. Dean barely has time to rush the humans up the stairs. The light is blinding against the grey walls, and the screams are terrible. But in seconds it’s done. The dark surrounds them, the flames washed away by Castiel’s might, and silence makes its way in the corridors. Castiel lights a torch and Dean runs to him. The angel looks pale.

“Cas! Are you alright?”

“I may have been too confident… It seems I am weaker than I hoped I’d be.”

“Okay, uh, take your time. That was impressive, but, uh, take it easy,” Dean comforts him as Constantine rushes down the stairs. He’s followed by three men holding a large log.

“Your help is appreciated, messenger of Heaven, and it will not be forgotten,” he says with humbleness. “Allow us to help you in the task.”

They force the wall with a battering ram, ignoring the smell of rotting corpse and spilled alcohol. Dean looks at them doing so, still near Castiel in case the angel falls down.

After three strikes the wall crumbles in pieces and the torches light the inside of the tomb. Alba gets up and runs to Dean.

“Oh, Dean! Castiel! Thank you!”

“It’s alright, girl, we got you.”

“Dean it’s Sam, he’s–”

Her voice is covered by the scream of a soldier, and Dean raises his head in panic. Sam is still in the prison, his hands raised… and his face and neck covered with blood. He looks at Dean with an apologetic look.

“Alright, I know it looks bad. But it’s _not_ what it looks like.”

“Oh you gotta be kidding me,” Dean groans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright alright, It LOOKS bad, Sam. It looks bad. I hope your explanation is worth it boy.


	28. Goddammit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean, Sam and Alba still have so much to do before being free of this mess... Yet the clock is ticking.   
> Castiel is his old-new self. And that might be a problem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm live in Paris, now. And I have a job. It's crazy I didn't think it would impact so much my writing.   
> Un-beta-ed work from non english speaker (yeah yeah you know)   
> Enjoy!

“Goddam—I left you for _one_ day! Less than a day!”

“Tell that to Azazel,” Alba sniffs next to him. “It’s not as if we _wanted_ to be kidnapped.”

Dean looks at her with an eyebrow raised, then at his brother. Sam is still standing awkwardly in the cell, his hands raised in front of Constantine’s soldiers, blood smeared on his face. Castiel looks absolutely disgusted and a little horrified, Dean hasn’t seen that much expression on an angel’s face in a while. Castiel frowns and shows his teeth, there’s nothing of the snob angel ill-at-ease in his human skin. He’s the warrior of Heaven Dean fought alongside.

“What kind of _abomination_ are you?”

“Ouch” Sam says, more to himself, “It’s not… I’m not… Can we talk about this somewhere else? Please? Azazel will come back!”

“I should kill you right this instant!” Castiel threatens. Adding the gesture to his words, he unsheathes an angel blade from his sleeve and Dean and Alba immediately move to get between him and Sam. Constantine’s men move back when Castiel thunders.

“Out of the way, mortals! You are but insects in front of my might!”

“We know!” Dean shouts. “We know but _please_ don’t kill Sam! There’s a good explanation! Drop your weapon, Cas!”

“Azazel will come back!” Alba adds with distress. “We _have_ to leave!”

“Let’s go back to my castle,” Constantine eventually says. He has stayed close to the staircase. “We will deal with them there.”

Castiel only stares at Dean, and Dean has the feeling he could melt under this fiery stare. The painful way. Nonetheless he stands between his idiot little brother and the angel who could smite them all to the Empty.

“I agree with Constantine,” Dean says aloud, though his words are for Castiel only. “We won’t make any trouble. Let’s go, okay? We can… we can secure a room there, so Azazel can’t get to us.”

Castiel frowns, his ice-blue eyes still locked on Dean. Eventually he agrees. A tiny nod and it’s all it takes for Alba and Sam to be arrested. They follow Constantine in silence. Whatever made Castiel change his mind, Dean is glad. They might live another day. As for Alba and Sam…

The trip back is silent, the two ‘prisoners’ are whispering to each other in the back of the line, attached and guided by soldiers on foot. They’re not attacked by any demon while travelling, and Azazel is nowhere to be seen. Not that Dean complains… As soon as they arrive Constantine leads them to a cell Dean immediately demon-proofs as best as he can. Castiel looks at him do with mild interest, he ignores Sam and Alba shackled on the other side of the room. Sam looks heartbroken, Dean notices. Maybe he didn’t expect Castiel to be so angry at him, after all, the angel stayed civilized at best the first time. At least he’s not covered in blood anymore, he looks more human. Once the room is well protected, Sam straightens a little.

“I’m not a demon, you know? Not a monster either. You can throw salt at me, or holy water, or cut me with iron or silver. I can still walk out of your devil’s trap.” There’s a thin layer of sweat on his forehead and cheeks. “I know you don’t trust me, Castiel, but _please_ at least acknowledge that I’m _not_ the monster you believe I am. Azazel is. And he’s still running loose.”

Finally Castiel looks at Sam. Dean is ready to act if anything gets wrong.

“What are you? Why hasn’t Heaven reacted yet?”

“It’s complicated. But I’m _not_ a demon.”

“What happened?” Dean asks, ignoring Castiel’s scoff.

“We got attacked by demons, obviously,” Alba explains. “We were tortured… Azazel wanted to know why you two were here. He got… displeased with the answer. Things became dangerous for us and… and… I don’t know, he discovered something in Sam and decided not to kill us.”

“Yeah, drinking demon blood is a better idea, right?” Dean angrily replies.

Sam frowns. “I didn’t have a cho—”

“That didn’t stop you from jumping into old habits!” Dean interrupts him.

“What?! I didn’t us—”

“Oh yeah? What about the mess—”

“SPIRITUAL MAGIC!” Sam eventually shouts.

Dean stays silent a moment, dumbfounded. “… What?”

“We used telepathy, it’s easier than you think,” Alba sighs. “We opened a—a sort of ‘portal’ between your two minds, you two being brother it wasn’t really hard. The… the _blood_ made it easier but… yes. Spiritual magic. Arcanic one.”

 Castiel’s eyes go from Alba to Sam to Alba to Sam. He now has an everlasting pout on his face, like he’s struggling to decide.

“You do are telling the truth,” he simply says after a moment, “Yet there’s still shadows in this story.”

“Ask Heaven,” Dean replies with irritation. “If Azazel’s around and knows everything then we have to leave!”

“You found a solution?” Sam asks, hopeful.

“We thought we could, you know, ‘ask’ an archangel to help us. But now I’m not sure Castiel is up to help us. _But_ we’re in the place with the largest stock of holy oil you’ll ever see!”

“You will _not_ desecrate the sanctity of my older brothers with your plans!” Castiel thunders again.

“Come on!” Dean replies without any care for Castiel’s anger. “It’s our best shot! That or _black magic_ and it’s worse! And disgusting, trust me on that.”

Castiel starts pacing in the room like a wild animal, and Sam and Alba retreat further against the wall they’re shackled into, not wanting to be in the middle of the storm. Dean sighs but stands near the angel. It’s the moment Constantine chooses to enter the room.

“Angel of the Lord! The demons are attacking the castle!”

Castiel looks at him, then at Dean.

“We can stop this,” Dean assures him. “Let us help. Let us _all_ help.”

Despite everything he tries to show, Castiel is still weakened by his injuries, alone he can’t stop the demons. Alba and Sam are expectantly waiting for his answer, and Constantine is getting restless near the door.

“My soldiers are getting slaughtered!”

“So be it. Free them,” Castiel demands, “we shall stop the attack.”

Dean sighs in relief and frees the two prisoners.

“You’ll be okay?” Dean asks Sam.

“I’ll try to be,” Sam simply replies. But he already looks sick. “You find a way to convince Castiel to let us borrow an archangel.”

Dean nods and they all leave the safety of the room to try and stop the slaughter.

 

Demons are swarming in the courtyard. Though the main gate is still intact, thanks to Dean’s protections in and out, there’s a hole in the east wall, and Dean wonders how come none of the demons of his era ever thought about going through the wall when they block the entrance. Alba sends a fireball through the hole, scaring a few soldiers but burning alive demons in instants.

“You think Azazel is around?” Dean asks Sam.

“I don’t know! Alba and I drove him out of the sepulcher, and we didn’t see him after that!”

“You _what_?!”

“Later, okay? Go do your job, I’ll think of a plan!”

“Yeah, you do that!”

Dean takes an iron sword and coils it with holy water, he hopes it’ll be enough. He tries it on a demon and decapitates him with a powerful strike. Mh. Not as good as an angel blade, but pretty cool. Dean runs to another demon and strike him before he can disappear, killing his human host. With a dodge that cost him a _crack_ from his back – ooooh he’s getting old – he avoids the sharpened edge of a knife and jumps back to face his new assailant. Azazel is still missing, Dean considers himself lucky. Castiel is not far from him and he doesn’t seem well, so after killing another enemy Dean gets closer. He can now see why Castiel’s not in a good shape. He’s healing Constantine’s soldiers. His touch of light brings the wounded back on their feet with renewed vigor, and the air is fizzling with the angel’s might. Dean rarely got the chance to see Castiel so beautiful. They can do this. They can win.

Dean goes to protect Castiel as the angel helps another man.

“You okay there, Cas?”

“I am, I thank you for your concern. Where are Sam and Alba?”

“They… are…” he has no idea. “I don’t know. I’ve got bigger concern.”

Castiel goes to help an archer and Dean follows.

“Bigger than your brother’s life?”

“Since when do you care about Sam’s wellbeing?” Dean finds himself more bitter than he wanted to be.

Castiel stops talking for a moment. Dean focuses on the fight.

Eventually the angel explains himself.

“Sam is still an abomination but… he told the truth. He has been honest since the beginning. Would I have asked him earlier I know he wouldn’t have hidden the truth from me. And you both have be quite… unsettling, yet Heaven doesn’t seem to care about it. Until new orders arrive, and they will… I will treat Sam as a friend.”

Dean finds himself smiling despite the dire situation. He punches a demon then finishes it with his blade.

“You’re the best, Cas.”

“Do _not_ flatter me.”

“Oh, I do, I do.”

Castiel kicks a demon away from a wounded soldier. And suddenly the flow of foes dims… and stops. Dean leans against a cart to search his breath.

“What now?”

Alba and Sam arrive to him, running with grins on their faces.

“I told you it would work!” Sam says to Alba. He’s pale but content.

“I would have _never_ expected that!” She happily chirps.

“What did you do, you two?” Dean asks, curious and concerned.

“We drew a giant devil’s trap under the castle!” Alba shouts a little too loudly with excitement. “I did it! Sam kept the demons at bay with his exorcism in Latin, and we used the ley energies to draw under the ground! Look, the traces!”

Dean looks down, lifts his boot, and there it is. A thin line, darker than the rest of the dirt.

“Color me impressed. This is good work. Castiel was worried for you, though. Go comfort his feathery being.”

They both leave him with a little laugh, and Dean drops his smile once they’re gone. He hurts _everywhere_. He’s in no shape to face an archangel if they summon one. And Castiel hasn’t recovered. And Sam looks sick. What a bunch of winners.

Maybe Gabriel? He’s often difficult to find, which is normal if he’s already hiding from Heaven. But after all, Gabriel is the one who found then this time. It’s likely they can count on his cooperation on this one. Fast, before Azazel falls on them and kills them all.

With a heavy sigh, Dean stands up from the cart he was leaning against and goes to join the rest of his team. Castiel talks with Constantine, Alba and Sam aren’t far from them and visibly forgiven. There’re still demons outside, throwing arrows and sieging the castle, but nothing the soldiers can’t handle. Dean is sure summoning an archangel here would eradicate the rest of Azazel’s army.

“I thank you for your help,” Constantine says to Deans when he’s close enough. Against all odds he seems to have been part of the fight. “You saved many lives today.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“But I am menti—”

“It’s an expression… Anyway. We still have the need of an archangel, that or black magic. Castiel, your choice.”

“Do I really have one?” Castiel scoffs. “You mortal are reckless.”

“We prefer the word ‘brave’. I believe Gabriel will help us,” Dean says.

“At least give us a chance,” Sam asks Castiel. “If the archangel’s not happy about it he’ll… kill us all and that’s it. But if we don’t try we’re dead anyway. Azazel won’t have much patience.”

“How did you get rid of him?” Dean knows now’s not the time but he’s too curious.

Alba giggles while drinking from a gourd, and she almost chokes on the water.

“Demons don’t seem to tell if we’re lying. We gave him a wrong location to… you know, what he’s looking for. That location is, according to Sam, one of the seventh vaults of Loki in the… the wat… ‘Norse’ mythology? Anyway, Azazel went to check because Sam told him the sigils where too powerful for demons, and we never saw him again.” She giggles more.

Dean finds himself laughing aloud. That was clever indeed.

“Good job! Now let’s summon one of those sons of b—” he oofs as Sam shoves his elbow on his side.

Castiel death-glares him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: the reason why I couldn't finish this nanowrimo in time is because I followed a wrong class all my first semester last year. I realized it two weeks before the exams (so middle November) and had to catch up all my missing classes to pass my exams. It was a wild ride.   
> But I'm here now. And I'm going to finish this.   
> See you later!


	29. Mis-spelled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything's wrong with the Winchesters!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm ALIIIIIIIVE!   
> Ahahahahah!! For this chapter that has been way too long to write, I made like a double-chapter, with 3000+ words! So, yes, This is it!   
> Don't worry about the grammar mistakes and other mispellings (eheh)   
> Enjoy!

Few are the bravest demons who dare cross the devil’s trap to continue the fight, fewer are those who face the might and anger of Castiel, and the arrows dipped in Holy Water. Instead they’re waiting outside, for something unknown to the humans. While most of them are patient, staring at the walls far enough not to take an arrow, others are pacing back and forth like animals preying on one little mistake. In the castle it’s more or less the same, the waiting, but soldiers are running around to help the wounded and take care of the dead, and high ranked men are screaming orders to prepare for the upcoming battle. And in the middle of all this, Dean is desperately trying to remember how to summon an archangel.

Sure, he remembers a few words and ingredients, but the rest is fog, lost somewhere in a book he left at home. Sam can’t help him, he’s slowly but surely crashing down. He keeps saying he’s fine, but he doesn’t look fine and he can’t remember the spell either and that’s not like Sammy to forget a summoning spell.  As for Alba, she still doesn’t understand what an Archangel really is, even though she _met_ one, and Castiel doesn’t seem able to use the angel radio… at least that’s what he says. The haunting in his eyes every time Dean asks him to help him summon and archangel tells something else, something Dean doesn’t want to dig. So… no help from the angel. And no asking Heaven directly, not when they need the Archangel to appear right where they want. Which is inside a circle of Holy Oil.

“Is everything alright?” Constantine asks him.

Dean starts in surprise and clears his throat. “Yes, yes, I’m just… it’s, uh, complicated to call for an archangel. We need—” they need to remember how to trap one but saying that to a believer isn’t a good idea. “We need good energies, and all that. Yeah.”

“… I see. Isn’t the Angel of the Lord enough to help you?”

“Again, _no_. He could be, but he decided he didn’t want. I need a higher rank.”

Before Constantine can reply, Castiel and Sam arrive quickly and catch their attention.

“we have a problem,” Sam says in a rush.

“What now?” Dean groans.

“Witches. The ones Azazel threw at us.”

“Beatrice.”

“Yes,” Sam says with a sigh. “Demons are enough problems, we can’t deal with both.”

“I thought Gabriel killed them all!” Dean throws his arms in the air in frustration. “What the fuck?”

“No! It was another coven! Can you please _follow_? These ones where at the house!”

“Ok, alright,” Dean groans again. “aaaaah Dammit! Okay, I’m going to see what we can do. Cas, come with me. Sam, you stay… back, you stay back and you… I don’t know, take care of the summoning.”

“Hey! I can—”

“I don’t trust you around demons,” Dean interrupts him. Sam pales. “That’s final. Stay there, I’ll be right back.”

Dean quickly turns on his heels to flee from Sam’s heartbroken expression, and he catches Castiel by the arm to run to the front gate.

 

Sam looks as Dean runs to the fight, motionless. Did Dean just… Did he…? Feeling the warm invade his cheeks and neck, Sam throws a glance at Constantine who’s strangely silent since the beginning of the conversation. It’s been a long time since he felt _that_ humiliated! Keeping his anger to himself, Sam leaves Constantine to go back to the castle where they left their belongings.  He lost most of his stuff in the house fire when the witches attacked, even the notebook where he wrote Alba’s teaching.  So that’s leaving him with Dean’s bag. Rummaging through his brother’s stuff, Sam hopes for something useful, but he finds nothing. Dammit! Restless, he sits on a chair at the table and tries to remember the summoning spell for an archangel. He knows it, he _knows_ he knows it. He’s just not concentrated enough to make his brain work, he just needs—he needs…

Sam deeply inhales. No, no he’s _fine_ , he’s okay, he’s himself. He doesn’t need anything. He just wants them out. Back in the future. That’s it, that’s all. Fighting the throbbing pain in his head, Sam gets up and walks around the room. He can’t remember how to summon an archangel. They only did it once, and he can’t think properly. Too bad this was their only plan. Sam doesn’t know anything about time travelling spells made by witches, and they never managed to counter a witch work without the witch. Maybe they can’t. Maybe this was a mis-spell, and error in the incantation because they got caught and killed everyone.

That’s not happy thoughts.

With a sigh, Sam tries to think of another plan that doesn’t require to kidnap an Archangel. But all of his ideas are either impossible or really really _bad_. First thing first, he’s going to ask again. Yes. That he can do. Ask Gabriel. And if Gabriel doesn’t answer, then he’s going to stir up and Heaven and maybe, maybe, one of the Archangels will grace them with a glance.

Sitting on the chair again, Sam closes his eyes. “Alright. I’m speaking to you, Gabriel. You helped us before, you will help us in the future. I’m asking you to help us now, because we really need you. I know the angels hear our prayers so please, _please_ , we need your help.” A minute, another, no answer. “Okay, your choice.” With a wince, Sam grabs a piece of charcoal. Time for bad plan two.

 

High on the wooden watchtower of Constantine’s fortress, Alba leans towards the edge to look at the witches settling their camps. The demon’s unease with the devil’s trap gave time for the soldiers to prepare, to coil their weapons with Holy Water and protect themselves with littles stars Dean gave them. Time. It bought time, nothing more. With a coven of black witches helping their enemies, there’s not much they can do.

“Careful, maiden,” a soldier warns her as she leans more. “We don’t want you to fall.”

“I appreciate your concern, soldier,” she simply replies. She doesn’t bother retorting she knows what she’s doing, they wouldn’t believe her.

From where she is, she can see the campfire and hear the chanting. That sounds like black magic alright. Alba doesn’t recognize any of the sorceresses, and it deeply unsettles her. How naïve has she been for not noticing how many witches had been tempted by black magic? Her sisters are foolish to think that would serve them…

Suddenly the chanting stops, and everything goes silent around the fort. _Everything_. The wind, the birds, the confused soldiers. Alba holds her breath and duck her head. In instants, a rain of fire falls from the sky and towards the fort. Alba pushes the soldier out of the way and screams a hasty spell, reaching to the hellish sky with her arms. The flames stop mid-air and stay still, only a few centimeters above the watchtowers. Downstairs it’s total panic, the army is either screaming in fear or preparing for battle. Dean and Castiel arrive running.

“What the hell??” Dean screams.

“I… can’t… hold it…” Alba breathes out.

Castiel lights up his own magical powers, as beautiful as ever, and he clears the sky with a quick swipe of his invisible wings. Alba can breathe again. She pants and nods.

“Ok, uh,” Dean thinks fast, hopeful, “can you call for rain? It could at least prevent them from doing that again?”

“I can try,” Alba says. “But I need—”

Suddenly Dean and Castiel fly backward and fall from the watchtower and Alba screams in fear and surprise.

“Dean! Castiel!!”

“My darling! It’s been a long time!” Beatrice’s voice chirps behind her, sending chills down Alba’s spine. “Aw, sweetheart, you got your ideas messed up, you shouldn’t help _them_.”

“You are _not_ Beatrice… You’re a demon…”

But the fact that Beatrice is this powerful from this side of the fences is proof she isn’t.

“I’m not anymore, Alba, he let go of me so I could use my magic against _our_ common enemy. Darling, you should… choose better friends. They tried to kill me!”

Alba feels her insides grow cold. This is her best friend asking for her help, not a demon wearing her skin. Her sweet Bea, who killed her husband and made a deal with a demon who possessed her. With a sob, Alba gets ready to fight. Bea looks saddened.

“You made your choice. I will ask them to possess you instead of killing you. You’ll see, so much power is exhilarating.”

Beatrice then starts a spell and Alba knows it will be painful. She can’t fight against black magic, she never learnt that. She readies herself to protect the area, the soldiers, with her life. All of a sudden, the ground starts shaking violently. Bea is thrown off guard, her chanting stops as she looks around.

“What did you—” she starts but is interrupted by a bright light.

Next to Alba… is Raziel. She remembers the mighty, _cold_ angel. “You?!” She points an accusing finger at him. “I remember you!”

“Now isn’t the time, human. Where is Sam Winchester?”

Alba opens her mouth, closes it, looks around. She has no idea. Beatrice starts another spell, but another angel appears near them. She stops. Alba is officially lost and confused.

“What are y—”

“Where is Sam Winchester,” Raziel repeats.

 

Dean must have hit his head really bad when he fell because they’re _no way_ an army of angels just _appeared_ in the camp. Castiel helps him on his feet and looks around too. He seems just as confused as Dean, with his ‘I smell bullshit’ squint. Raziel jumps from the watchtower with Alba in his arms, and he frees her when they touch the ground.

“They have Beatrice!” Alba shouts. “There’s angels everywhere!”

“Yeah, I can see that! What happened?”

“They’re looking for Sam!”

Dean curses. Castiel and Raziel are in a deep staring contest. At least six other angels are in the courtyard, who knows how many more are outside, taking care of the demons.

This is not a comforting idea.

“I—I need to find my brother…” And Dean starts running to the building, never mind the painful concussion in his head. He shouts Sam’s name, looking everywhere. And he finds him, inside a complex circle of symbols, surrounded by holy oil and Dean’s lighter, just… chilling.

Michael is in the room, too.

“Sammy!”

 

Sam raises his head to look at Dean rushing down the stairs. His brother stops and gasps when he sees their guest. Michael is nothing like the comforting light of this Castiel. He radiates with cold power. His vessel is already straining under the effort of keeping his molecules together. Michael raises an eyebrow, then turns towards Sam again.

“Looks like I have an advantage, now.”

Sam chuckles, but it’s weak. Oh, he’s in so much pain. Bad blood, bad. “What are you going to do, torture him? That changes nothing. You _can’t_ kill him, can’t kill us. If you could, we’d be dead. We’re not. I still have the advantage.”

“Messing with time is—”

“Not a problem for you. You just don’t want to help. Why? Because you don’t care? So here’s the deal: If you don’t help us, I’m freeing Lucifer. This is my ultimatum.”

Michael grits his teeth, pacing around the circle of symbols. “You can’t break the—”

“The what, the omens? For the apocalypse? Yeah, we, uh, we don’t need that. We found another way, not long ago. Easier.” He’s not lying. He knows it. Michael does, too.

Dean walks closer, he seems more careful than usual. It reminds him of when Sam had lost his mind after Castiel broke the barriers of his soul. This time Sam’s fine. He’s desperate, feverish and angry, but he’s fine.

“Sammy,” Dean asks, “What are you doing?”

“I’m getting us out of here,” Sam replies. He hopes Dean won’t side with Michael. “So, Michael, make your choice. Either you send us back to our time, or I summon a demon right _there_ and I’m leaving with him and I’m freeing Lucifer.”

“ _Don’t_ , it would deserve us all! It would destroy everything!”

“So what’s keeping you from sending us back in time?!” This time it’s Dean who shouts at the angel.

Michael doesn’t reply. Sam pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Alright. I’m invoking Lilith.”

“Don’t!!” Dean _and_ Michael shout at the same time.

The angel grits his teeth, angry. He has stopped his pacing.

“It is not about _not wanting to_. This is far more sinister. Believe me, I would love to send you back in time, because you have nothing to do here. It wasn’t supposed to happen. It wasn’t a loop. We were fortunate enough for this not to alter reality.”

“Oh, snap,” Dean whistles. He didn’t see this coming. The only bright side? “Sammy, you were _wrong_!”

“Shut up. So? What’s the problem, then?”

Michael sighs. His vessel grows paler under the pressure. “This is not a passage in time. This is not time travel. This _spell_ , this wasn’t to go back in time, but to call something _in_ your time. The spell was a mistake. It was—”

“A mis-spell…” Dean says with a smug tone. The silence following this smart-ass reply is gold.

“AS I SAID, the spell backfired. The energies you left in your wake… We can’t contain them. If you go back, it will open a portal. It will unleash the Unnamed upon your world.”

“The what?” Dean gasps. “The what now?”

Sam gets up from where he was seated on the ground with a groan. Michael seems genuine. This Michael hasn’t lost total faith in humanity, yet. This is comforting.

“The Unnamed,” Michael repeats. “The prisoners sleeping in the Empty. The Ones keeping the angels and demons dormant for the Empty. If they wake up, they will unleash the power of the Empty on the human world.”

“The Empty, eh?” Dean sighs. “Yeah we heard about this one. Didn’t think he would be this dangerous, I thought this was a place.”

“It is. A place, an entity, both. He doesn’t like being bothered. If the veil between your worlds breaks, he will not hesitate to destroy everything to find peace.” He stops. “I am asking you not to free Lucifer. Because he won’t hesitate to free the Unnamed just to destroy everything.”

Sam gets out of the circle with another sigh, and Dean walks closer to him to help him stay on his feet. Azazel’s blood is _not_ a good idea.

“Michael… we need to get to our world. Lucifer is _free_ , out there. The Angels… Paradise isn’t in great shape. We need to get back.”

“The Unnamed—”

“We will take care of the Unnamed,” Dean says. “Don’t worry about it. You don’t have any other choice. Neither do we. Let’s stop this game, everybody losing one way or the other.”

Michael growls, but he doesn’t make a move. He starts pacing again.

“The angels—”

“They can’t do shit. They can’t help us. We do our job, you do yours and you help us get back in time and stop the not named monster. You’re… You’re buying time!”

Sam looks at the staring contest between Michael and Dean. He wonders who’s going to die for this conversation to happen. This vessel is going to explode.

“So be it. If you fail, there is no world to defend anymore.”

“We won’t fail,” Dean assures him. “We stopped worse.”

Defeated, Michael leads the way to the entrance of the castle. Sam and Dean follow.

“Are you crazy?” Dean asks his brother. “Really? Lucifer? Lilith?”

“Well, it worked, didn’t it? Besides, I think the angels were just too proud to explain the problem. Without anyone they can send to stop this, they have to rely on _humans_. That’s probably what’s keeping them from helping.”

“… Yeah but… Blackmailing angels isn’t the solution. It’s going to get worse.”

“Worse than what we’re going to do?”

Dean doesn’t answer when they arrive outside, not wanting to worry Alba and Castiel who anxiously wait for them. Castiel steps back and salutes Michael with respect and fear. The angels have cleaned the place, but at what cost? The air is already thick with their might, and the place will never be the same.

Constantine is kneeling not far, reciting prayers, but Michael doesn’t pay attention to him. He’s talking with Raziel with a low voice, whispers exchanged between the angels. Eventually Raziel bows and steps back, and Michael turns towards Sam and Dean.

“Be wary of the Unnamed, for he can have many forms. Be careful around the Empty, for he is relentless in his search for peace and quiet. You will only have _one_ chance, for no one leaves the Empty once they are in. You two alone—”

“They won’t be,” Alba says, stepping closer to the brothers. “I’m coming with them.”

“Alba?” Sam asks, unsure. “… What…?”

“The witches from this world, I cannot reach them. I have nothing left here. Besides, if you have an even greater threat to face, I prefer being here to save your skin. You don’t want me?”

“Buckle up, kiddo, I’m going to introduce you to bacon,” Dean simply says as he drags Alba closer to them. “Michael, we are r… No… wait.”

Stepping aside, Dean goes near Castiel. This angel right there, he’s going to miss him. But not for too long.

“You should not make Michael wait,” Castiel warns him. But in his emotionless features shines sadness.

“Well. I’m probably going to die so… I just want you to know I’m really _really_ happy to have known the you of this time. Stay safe, Cas.” And he hugs him tightly for a long time. “Until our next meeting.”

“Until our next meeting, Dean Winchester. I will watch over you.”

“I know…”

Dean steps back, looks at this Castiel, and he can’t wait to see his Cas again. Clearing his throat after this too public too emotional moment, he goes back with his brother and Alba. Alba smiles at him.

“Aw.”

“Shush, woman.”

She laughs a little a takes his hand. Michael looks at them three, sighs again. The second after, Sam, Dean and Alba blink and fight back the nausea and migraine.

“What the…?” Dean stutters.

“We’re back!” Sam says with a relieved laugh! He still looks sick, but at least he looks happy. “Look! It’s the building coven! The witches corpses!”

“Sam! Dean!” Castiel enters the room in panic. “Where were you?”

Alba looks around, looks at the man entering the room, confused and a little afraid. Sam catches her by the hand.

“Alba, this is Castiel. But from our time.”

Alba looks at this angel with wide eyes. But before Cas can ask what in Heaven is going on, Dean hugs him.

“I missed you.”

“… You left half a day ago.”

“Aw, man, you can’t imagine what happened. Shut up and let me hug the hell out of you.”

Castiel makes an outraged snort, but he lets Dean hug him.

A rumble is heard outside. They all raise their head, and Sam runs to the window and opens it, followed by Alba who gasps.

“What are those giant things?!”

“That’s buildings, that’s _normal_.”

“Oh… And the vortex in the sky?”

“This is not.”

Castiel, still near Dean, looks at the window too. “What have you done?”

“Oh boy… Get your guns ready. We have to face the _Unnamed_.”

Castiel pales. His eyes grow wide.

“Yes. I remember. You were… We had… The _Empty_. Michael. Azazel.” He looks at Dean with confusion. “So this happened?”

Dean smiles. “You remember. That’s so cool.”

It’s with hope that Dean guides his group to the entrance door and his sooo missed baby to get down to family business.

Killing monsters, saving lives.

Saving the world. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS IT!!! THE END!   
> with an OPEEEEN DOOOOOR *creaaaaack* to maybe another story? Another... season?   
> Thanks for having stuck with me, those who have, and we'll see each other for the epilogue!


End file.
